#anyway i used to be tuned into the channel of someone who fucked that stupid man i think

[jarvis-cockhead]

i still kind of believe that one of my past consciousnesses had sex with james hunt i wont lie

[galar-abortion-clinic]

🍀🧠🥊🎓 For Jules, Mauly, and Rory! Just curious about these three!

(Jules is getting his own post since someone else asked about him, so stay tuned. Same twat time, same twat channel)

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Conceptually, both Mauly and Rory are two sides of the same coin. At first I only had Mauly, but I decided to extract a few traits from her and squelch those out into their own character so that her personality wouldn’t feel so totally neutered by incompetence. She’s a little more idealized, whereas Rory is my worst fear of what I could turn out to be, or how other people might perceive me

Mauly is impulsive, brash, self-serving, and arrogant. She’s unapologetically angry, horny, and human. Rory is all of those things, but deeply insecure and constantly overcompensating. He’s pathetic and he makes me sick. Basically he boils down to “sid vicious if he were a bit less of a dick, purely because he’s subdued by cowardice”

Design-wise? Kalos’ rendition of the Punk Guy/Girl trainer class, man. I fell in love instantly. Also this one specific tank girl page:

Good shit

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

Mauly takes no shit. Sure, that might mean she leaves a bad taste in some people’s mouths, but she knows when she deserves to be treated better. Something I’ve always struggled with has been not standing up for myself because I’m worried it’ll hurt or inconvenience other people. Mauly says fuck those other people, It’s not my job to accommodate anyone else’s existence by minimizing my own. Her whole arc is about self-acceptance through ambivalence. “Even if i don’t love myself, i can’t change who I am. You’re not going to change me either, and you look stupid for trying”

Rory’s best use to me is catharsis. I’ve shoved all the shit I hate about myself into this guy and exaggerated it by queefzillion, and it feels reassuring to see him being knocked down a peg for behaving like a little wart. It also feels kind of nice when he still manages to find occasional kindness in spite of his many, many glaringly hideous flaws.

🥊 - What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

Mauly was one of those kids who every adult in her life would describe as “so creative” and “a free spirit”, which is actually grown-up code for “this poor bastard’s gonna be a starving artist and we’re hiding our disappointment”. If she had the means to create more often, she’d have a lot of fun honing her craft and fully leaning into art as an outlet for her angst

Because she’s so hands-on and skilled at improvised patching and the like, she often gets stuck with repair responsibilities by the other schmucks she lives with. She doesn’t mind slapping duct tape over stuff several times over or whacking things with a hammer til it fits right, she just would prefer not being assigned that job by other people. Never tell her what to do

Rory’s nimble fingers don’t only make him a passable thief, but also a possibly-not-the-worst musician. He’s never played for anyone else, which might be why he kinda sucks, but it’s one of the few things he keeps to himself instead of bloating to give his delicate ego some padding. His songbook is loaded with edgy cringe, but its the sort of raw soul-bearing stuff that reminds you there’s a person in there. Not a great person, but a person

Anyway something he hates doing is uhhhhhh giving to charity,

🎓- How long have you had the OC?

Mauly’s been around ffffforrrrrr i wanna say maybe two years now? For a long time she was just an idea in my head, i didn’t wanna touch that idea til i knew exactly what i wanted to do with it

Rory’s my freshest OC, only been around for like a month. Not even. Could still use some fine tuning

Bonus: some VERY rough first drafts of Mauly that’re a little closer to the source material (excuse the positively grimy state of the paper, i dont take very good care of my sketchbooks)

[explode-this]

Questions I have developed after not really watching GMM for a couple of years:

How can you be friends for decades and not accept that sometimes, yes, another person will use the word “afraid” to describe how they feel about the unpredictability of the texture of eggs? I get a little light ribbing, I get calling someone a picky eater, but going Full Neurotypical Boomer Dad on your peer for having a texture issue makes me think that compassion and empathy are in fairly short supply.

How many times can you change a thumbnail in a day to draw in additional viewers? And does it really matter when you have a three-tier fuck-you-pay-us platform to which most of the thoughtful “content” is being funneled, anyway?

What the fuck happened to the Hey Hey show? I loved those girls. Given time I think they’d have been great, but if you’re trying to photocopy your own existing show (but with girls! Who say “fart” sometimes!), then there’s probably not much room for organic growth there. Anyway, all trace of the show has been scrubbed from YouTube and its channel emptied, renamed, and filled back up with pointless shorts, so it’s a moot question, but I ask into the void regardless.

I do tune in every once in a while—international food taste tests are generally a delight, and I like the shuffleboard game—and I know it’s free and I’m not complaining like, “why doesn’t this show cater to meeeeeee?” Having questions like this and making uncomfortable observations (like when I realized how gross I felt every time I saw Link infantilized or made to look stupid for what now seems to me is neurospicy behavior) is more a process of learning when to stop consuming/doing things that keep tripping the annoyance alarm. Anger—as the overall umbrella over spiky red feelings that include annoyance—isn’t a bad thing that should be buried or tucked away. It’s not inherently toxic. It’s the response to things that wave big scarlet flags for you, matters of fairness, justice, and personal values, so that you’ll do something about it. Of course, you won’t really be able to do much about what people do of their own free will. It’s their show, so if Link doesn’t mind constantly being questioned or made fun of b/c at the end of the day he’s his own boss and he’s getting paid, then that truly isn’t any business of mine. In this case the “do something about it” means “understanding that if something I watch/listen to/read is annoying me more than it’s amusing me, it’s on me to stop watching/listening/reading or I’m just aggravating myself.” Feeling the annoyance/anger/whathaveyou isn’t meant to be a permanent state of being. It’s the call from the home security alarm folks asking if someone broke in or if you just forgot your code. If the alarm is going off 24/7 then you need a specialist for that—snipping the wires so you don’t even acknowledge the anger isn’t a solution.

TL;DR: a bunch of observations in a state of philosophical grief about letting go of things I used to like quite a lot with a stream-of-consciousness essay about staying in touch with your anger instead of eliminating it or feeling it all the time. Does Livejournal still exist? Maybe I should go there.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Balance (BakuDekuTodo x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Midoriya x Todoroki x Reader poly

Someone on my Wattpad asked for a BakuDekuTodo x Reader poly fic at the beach (I lost the comment somewhere in the abyss...)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,419

Tags: @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak @yuki-osaki @liviitehe

a/n: It’s been a while since I wrote this much.  I’m kinda happy though, I thought I wouldn’t have much to write on this one.  I tried not to make it too harem-y, but at least it still turned out wholesome.  I’m not too familiar with polyamory, so I did some research on Google and Yagami’s channel *cough* Hope you guys enjoy!

Also let’s appreciate Shouto being the chaotic bi/pan/gay Shouto he actually is

"Ahh, it's such a nice day to come to the beach isn't it?"  I stretch my legs out onto the towel.

Midoriya sets up a parasol above my head.  "Yeah, it's been a pretty long spring."

"Time to cut loose and have some fun!" Bakugou bellows, ripping off his shirt in one swift motion and rocketing towards the water.

"Wait up, Kacchan!"  The wide-eyed Midoriya lets of the umbrella post and starts taking off after the ash blond, only to pause and face me with a sheepish smile as if he's asking for permission.

"Go have fun, sweetie, I'm not stopping you."  I find it cute when he gives me those puppy eyes.  Who can resist him?

If he had a tail, it would be wagging, beaming from cheek to cheek as he runs after Bakugou, who's already left the boy in the dust.

"Dorks," I shake my head and smile to myself.  I notice Todoroki still rummaging through the tote bag we packed.  "You're not joining them?"

"I don't really like being in the ocean," he states blankly and pulls out a blue bottle.  "I'm fine watching them.  Want me to rub sunscreen on you?"

"Oh, you're right."  I turn onto my back.  "Thanks, babe.  I'll do yours also."

Todoroki straddles my back and massages my shoulders down to my lower back.  His alternation of his warm and cool hands run down my shoulders comfortingly with the heat of the Sun.  When he's finished, he leans over my back and places a kiss on my cheek.  "Done."

I sit up with a dumb smile on my face.  He's just so loving.  I pick up the bottle and massage his back with the sunscreen while I look out towards the other two boys having their fun in the water.  "Doesn't it feel like we're the parents in our relationship?"

"If you make out and mess around with your kids, I guess?" Todoroki snorts.

I hit his back so his body lurches forward.  "You know that's not what I mean."

The two boys come back to our spot, slick and shiny with saltwater on their half-naked bodies and hair.

"Kacchan almost drowned me," Midoriya whines and slumps himself next to me.

"Aww, come here sweetie," I coo and pepper kisses all over his freckled cheeks.  "Does that make you feel better?"

The broccoli headed boy wraps his arm around my shoulder, his cheerful expression melting my insides to mush.  My sunshine boy is so cute.

"No fair, Deku!" Bakugou roars, pointing an accusing finger at him.  "Don't get all nice with (Y/n) when you splashed me first, idiot!"

"Does the big baby want a kiss too?" I wiggle my eyebrows and make grabbing motions with my hands at the almost-pouting  boy.

He crosses his arms in front of him and looks away.  "No, I don't care," he mumbles in defense.

I decide to feint hurt just to get a rouse out of him.  "Kacchan doesn't care about me anymore, Mido," I whine to the boy next to me, throwing myself into his lap.

"It's okay, Kacchan's just being mean again."  The boy rubs my back and sticks his tongue out at his childhood friend.

"Shut up!"  Bakugou's ears and cheeks slowly turn red as he turns his back towards us.  "I don't want your stupid kisses."

"Oh?" Todoroki takes up the opportunity to sneak up behind the boy and wiggle his arms around his lean torso.  "Do you want my kisses then?"

If Bakugou was red before, he's definitely flaming now as he quickly shoves the suave, smirking boy off him.  "Leave me alone, IcyHot!"  In a mumble he adds, "Not today..."

I understand how the spiky-haired boy feels.  He's relatively new to this relationship and he's still working out his comfort niche in it.  Because of Todoroki's seductive nature, Bakugou's opened up to him a bit, but he still keeps the strict friendly rivalry with Midoriya.

"Anyway," the blond uncrosses his arms and regains his composure, "On the way back, I saw an open volleyball net.  We should play a few rounds."

"I wanna play on (Y/n)'s team!" Midoriya chirps, still hugging my arm and beaming at me with his dancing eyes.  "We'll make a great duo, won't we?"

His energy is infectious.  My hand runs through his hair softly.  "Of course we would!"

"No way, nerd," Bakugou growls, lips set in a straight line, cutting off our sunshine mood like the dark cloud he is.  "You're clingy, (Y/n) probably wants a break from you."

Midoriya's grin reverses into a hard frown, his eyebrows creasing as he lets go of my arm to approach Bakugou.  "You're being childish, Kacchan, I don't like it.

"Looks who's calling who a child, damn Deku."  Bakugou feeds into the negative energy and gets in the other boy's face.

Todoroki, on the other hand, decides to keep out of it, fueling the flames in his own way and shrugging.  "You two can fight among yourselves.  (Y/n)'s staying with me tonight anyway."

"Fuck off, IcyHot!  You don't have too brag!"

As Bakugou and Midoriya go on arguing with each other, I tune out.  Why can't those two just get along already?  I've already told them many times that they need to at least tolerate each other when I'm around.  The freckled boy attempts to act more assertive despite his stuttering, but I know he doesn't want to hurt his childhood friend in any manner.

"They're going at it again," I sigh as Todoroki wraps his arms around my shoulders.

"But at least that leaves us time to ourselves while they fight."  His teasing voice echoes in my ear, sending fresh shivers through me.

"Shut up."  I lean my head on his when he places a kiss on my cheek.  "Can't you do something about them?"

"The only person who can fix that is you, dear."

"Fine."  With a sigh, I approach the quarreling boys with Todoroki in tow.  "I'm guessing you'll comfort the other one, right?"

"I'll do my best on your behalf," he winks.

I'm almost shocked, and proud, that they haven't resorted to violence yet.  "Alright, enough you two, I'm settling this."  Looking back and forth between the pair, I state firmly, "We can alternate between sets, okay?"  Then, I hang onto Bakugou's arm.  "But I'll start on this baby's team first since he's being extra needy today."

The flush creeps up his face again and he looks away.  "I-I'm not being needy."

I leave it alone, but I know him better than that.  Bakugou doesn't like to show how affectionate he actually is when his rivals are around.  Even though he's pushing away, he actually likes that I'm giving him attention.  I expect if we're left alone for a moment, he'll probably smother me with love.

"Looks like it's you and me, Midoriya," Todoroki tugs the wide-eyed boy by the waist off towards the volleyball nets.  "Let's try our best to beat them, yeah?"  He lightly taps the shorter boy's butt, and Midoriya stiffens in response before relaxing.

When they're out of earshot from us, I turn to Bakugou and loop my arms around his neck.  "Do you want my kisses now?" I tease.

Ever the tsundere, he looks away from me and pouts.  "Oh, now you're giving me attention?"

Without giving him any warning, I place my hand on his jaw and steal a quick kiss from his cheek, chuckling at his face rushing with color again.  "Babe, you know I love you."

He huffs, but pulls my body closer to him as we start following the other boys.  "Yeah, whatever."

My fingers lightly trace his toned chest.  "Why do you have to be such a tsundere? Just say what you want and I'll give it to you."

"I'm not a clingy puppy like Deku."

"You are, don't lie."

He deflates just like his tough boy act.  "Yeah..."

"Aw, Katsu."  I kiss his meaty hand and rub the knuckles.  "Alright, I'll be on your team for all the matches."

Just like that, his wilted figure straightens back up and he smacks a kiss on my cheek before running off.  "Oi, Deku!  (Y/n) says they're on my team permanently!"

I sigh to myself, trailing behind the three boys who have slowly become my entire world.  Although they're a messy bunch, they have their own steady rhythms in your relationship that would go awry if they weren't all there.

In other words, they're idiots.  But they're my idiots.

[hoetachi]

NINTENHOE + Kenma Kozume

mulan’s input; wtf did i just spend two weeks on? this shit is ASS 😭😭 anyways nintenhoe by doja inspired this for some reason summary; [College AU] kenma comes across your stream, yet stays for a different reason warnings; masturbation, slightly cursing, mention of degradation kink. genre; smut

“yo kenma, find us a stream to watch. i’m gonna go run to the store to get some more snacks”

That what kuroo said before leaving their dorm 30 minutes ago. In all honesty, he lowkey forgot he was supposed to be looking for something how distracted he got by his game he was playing.

Getting up from his bed, he stretched before reaching over to his nightstand to set his LED lights to red. He strolled towards his gaming chair that was tucked into his desk neatly and drop himself in it as he immediately typed away, entering the site’s name, where thousands of streams took place all at once.

5 minutes being on the site turned into 10 then 15 and, after clicking on a few more channels and then clicking off once they began to bore him, he sunk back into his seat once he returned to the discover page. Lazily gazing over the different boxes and seeing who he already visited and who he found boring. He was about to exit out of the website once nothing caught his attention right away until his eyes seemed to land on one box different from the others. “nintenhoey/n?” his usual monotone voice now filled with curiosity. Have he heard that name before, but somewhere else? it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t exactly remember from where.

Instead of busting his brain about it, he decided to reach for the mouse once again and kenma clicked onto your box and immediately entered your chat room. Your set up was very appealing to him along with the game you chose to play.

“Can you guys hear me? yes? that’s wonderful! anyways, welcome to the stream!” You greeted causing a few people in the chat send emojis or greets back. Kenma was caught completely off his guard when he saw his screen illuminated with your image, the live feed starting as your face lit up, noticing his handle. “Kenma? wait kenma from volleyball?” You questioned not fighting back the giddy smile on your lips. Sending a quick cat emoji before he leaned back and soaked in your recognition. Someone actually knew him as him and not as kuroo’s antisocial friend; honestly, he didn’t know how to react to knowing that but it did indeed felt refreshing for him

The reason why your handle sounded so familiar was because you’re the girl two doors down from him that always leaves little delicious snacks for him and kuroo after a long day of practice every wednesday. He never really payed attention to people who he wasn’t close with but damn, he was missing out because look at you. The hot pink lighting made your brown skin glimmer like little stars and your twists complimented you well, along with your glossy lipgloss. “I truly do hope you enjoy those watermelon bites i made you and kuroo yesterday. I was honestly just trying yesterday and my mind went you and your flirt of a teammate” for some reason that little statement made his body go hot for a second. A girl was thinking about him. but not just any girl, a very pretty and nice girl was thinking about him

“Anyways, sorry to get sidetracked with a volleyball genius. I’m so glad you guys decided to tune in again,” You leaned back in your chair, giving kenma and your audience better view of the college crop top you wore along with some shorts. You looked incredible, the very sight of your thighs alone made kenma blush from his body’s reaction. Now he had to sit and wait for kuroo with a semi-hard erection from his stupid raging hormones. “Okay that’s enough goofing around. Time to game and i truly need to focus with this one, i heard it was a rage game so please excuse my mouth in advance.” You gave the chat one last gentle smile, which made his heart beat a bit faster, before immersing yourself in your game.

During the stream, his eyes kept drifting to you. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, he couldn’t help find you attractive. Your personality wasn’t too biggish like hinata’s or obnoxious like lev’s; you were easygoing with a good sense humor that he liked quite a lot.

He barely knew you, yet you were the main thing he could focus on. However he was quickly pulled from his thoughts when you decided to pause your game and get up and stretch. He truly wondered if you knew how much your shorts is showing off when you touch your toes like that while you stretch? You’re basically showing your ass off, and it was starting to make him a bit hotter in his seat.

Damn, he’s already hard. The thick lusty air causing his body to heat up was nothing compared to the heat of his blood rushing down to his cock. Kenma slowly helped himself out of his sweats quickly, freeing up his legs so he can sit sorta comfortably with his throbbing shaft.

The urge to touch himself was tempting. It only became irresistible once you resumed your game and started letting out little curses here and there with agitated groans. He wonders if you act the sane way once the camera is off and you pleasure yourself. Do you keep that same determine glared as you shift your delicious thighs away from each other so you can fit your fingers between them. Or you’re as vocal when you’re by yourself petting your puffy lips as you aim for your climax.

At this point kenma couldn’t hold back such urges. Tugging his boxers to his knees, kenma wrapped his slender fingers around his cock and slides his hand up the shaft, moving slowly to reach his draw and pour some of the lube, kuroo gifted him as a joke, on his tip so he can indulge in the slippery texture. Moving his half lidded eyes to the controller you gripped frustratedly. Your hands were small yet they look like they would stroke him so well with your tight hold you had. You probably didn’t develop calluses like him from holding your controller with such strain, so they were probably much more softer than his.. and pleasurable.

Hazily gazing over you with desire and lust, more scenarios and wonders filled his head about your body. Bunching up his shirt and biting the ends to muffle his moans from his fellow dorm mates, lebma went to work on himself. Envisioning you ride and bounce on him had panting like a dog in heat. He wanted you bad, so fucking bad he decided to use his lust clouded judgement to get you to help reach his own pleasure.

Quickly, typing in his comment and pressing send he was pleased with the response he got, “you wouldn’t be surprise if i used these same words in a different scenario? kenny, baby you didn’t hear about my degradation kink? i thought everyone in the chat knew?” you said with smug on your face. He didn’t know if you were being serious or not, but don’t think that didn’t have him stroking faster at the thought of you calling him all the names you groaned out during you gameplay

“y’all are just some sluts for my rage” you chuckled into your mic as you glanced at the chat box

Biting harder on his t-shirt his breaths became more and more ridged as he comes closer to this climax. Every little thing you were doing was driving him further and further. The voice in his head kept repeating how you would call him all kinds of names if you ever found out about doing such a disgusting act as you streamed.

After a few more strokes, he released his load. He was quite surprised by how much he came from you, “good stream or...?” kuroo smirked as he dropped a bag the desk. Scrambling to pull up his pants, he avoided eye contact with his roommate “good thing i told her you were free tomorrow”

[dis--parity]

the message.

Summary: Meanwhile, in a hospital in the south of Sweden, a person reduced to a thoughtless shell is filled with new life. Trigger warnings: None. Author’s note: A little bonus chapter that I was excited to get out! It pertains to the final interview file and, well... it’s a pretty big piece of someone’s story.

It’s such a strange, horrible sensation, being trapped in your own body. Motionless, breathless, not even able to blink, not even able to see what little I hear. Days have passed. Or at least, I think they have; all my vision’s a blackout, and I’m quickly losing track of all time. When your eyes aren’t open, when your brain isn’t working right but your ears hear everything around you, it all just seems to melt together. The conversations of the doctors and nurses around me change at the flip of a switch.

I can’t even bring myself to try and count the hours, the days, the months I’ve been out cold. The last sensation stuck in my mind is the impact of a hammer against my arm, my chest, my head. Then, numbness, darkness, oblivion. Absolutely nothing crosses my mind after that. And I can’t even remember how long it’s been this way. 

It’s funny. For as long as I can remember, I’ve romanticised the idea of shutting off from the world; to be alone with the imagination without having to concern yourself with the real world. What a dream that must be, I thought. What a unique, astonishing bliss that must provide. Though, now that I lay here, unaware of how long it’s been, where the hell I am, and without even the will to decide whether I should be thankful for, or horrified by this comatose oblivion, something occurs to me.

The lucky ones, I’ve come to realise, are the ones whose mind and body die at the same time.

Will I ever wake up? Or will this mind finally give in and follow suit to my failing faculties? When I think about it enough, it crosses my mind that it probably doesn’t even matter which way that goes; my mind’s been like scrambled eggs for as long as my eyes have been closed, for as long as this ventilator’s been stuck on my mouth and this IV has been in my arm. I can only think of one person right now that would miss me if I slipped quietly past the veil - and they aren’t even here.

 I hear a jingle from what I think is right in front of me; there’s a TV in the room. I hear the news come and go from time to time, when my brain decides to tune back into the world around it. I’m guessing it’s in the corner of the room, seeing as I’m in a hospital bed right now. I can at least guess that much. If I ever wake up, maybe I’ll get a nice window view. 

Who knows, though? My thoughts and musings about the ray of sunlight I’ll probably never get to see quickly fade away as I’m forced to listen to the the only thing that’s really present in the room. Well, it’s not like I can get up and change the channel anyway, and apparently, I’ve got all the time in the world to absorb whatever this is. Whether I’ll actually retain any of the passing news about politics, science, celebrity gossip and the like, that’s another thing. But this… it seems different to what I’ve heard before. I hear a man delivering a more serious, monotone preamble, but-...

“... as announced earlier, the entirety of the contents of these ‘Haemolife Files’ will now be played on this channel for the purpose of transparency towards the public…”     Haemolife.

My body would have jolted, if only it could. Who knows how long it had been since I heard that name? That name of which a single utterance was enough to snap me back into focus. Up ‘til that point, I could feel my grasp on awareness starting to drift... 

No.

I snatch my awareness back. I have to. For the first time in God knows how long, I had something to pay attention to. Something I had to try and listen to. The voice of an unfamiliar man talks about his discoveries in a crackly audio recording, and asks a question to someone else he’s apparently with. I don’t catch all of it, I know, and I wasn’t about to get my hopes up, but there was only one person I could think of at that moment.

    Gale. Gale. Gale.     Please.     Please, tell me someone remembered you.

“... why do this? Haemolife was more or less off the radar until that weapons shipment came in.”

“... think that was the point they factored Gale in… had the willpower to defy… didn’t have the same fear Iris did. They knew… they knew she’d blab eventually. Desperate times, maybe.”

...what?

No. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. 

    Every part of me was looking out for that name -  a mention of her would have craved that phantom hunger my near-lifeless body felt right now. But, oh, did I hear so much more than my failing mind could have expected. She was dead. For the longest time, I thought she was dead. And now, as I’m hearing her voice, saying her name, talking about what she went through… I found my thoughts paralyzed again. It’s too much, this is far too much–

But, no! No! I can’t lose this moment! This might be the only chance I get to know that she’s alive, I can’t let my mind slip again now! My body doesn’t move, but I can practically feel my stomach turn as I try to regain my focus, try to recoil from the shock I heard from that name alone and listen, for God’s sake, listen to what she has to say.

“And the way Rosenfeld took ‘desperate measures’ was to initiate a terrorist attack before you could expose the truth?”

“No - not to take everyone else out. To destroy everyone in the know - myself included. Maybe something changed along the way, maybe they realised your CIA was onto them. Either way… it was the end for all of us.”

“Even the ones cross country… shit. They were prepared for this. Shit… I mean… you told me about your parents. I guess you didn’t leave anyone behind, at least.”

There’s silence for a moment. I wonder if I’m losing awareness again before I hear that familiar sigh through crackling audio. Finally, I heard her speak up again, her voice more shaken than it was before. I don’t know what led to me hearing this, what led to all this being exposed when it had been so long, but it was no less painful for me to listen to her, to be reminded of all that had happened to her, to us. I was starting to wonder if she even remembered who I was, when my answer came to me without me having to ask.

“… we did. Fuck. I did. We… couldn’t even say goodbye. We knew what was happening, and-... we pushed him away. We didn’t want to drag him into this, too.”

“Who?”

“… his name was Alex.“

Me? Me? She remembered, after all this time? I ask the brief silence that’s allowed between me registering my own name and her next sentence how this could even be possible. There’s no reply but the gentle static of the television as she continues speaking.

“He was there for us. If it wasn’t for him, we might not be Garis now.” ‘Garis’? What kind of name is that? Don’t tell me… no. Save that thought for another time.

“He showed us the best of times, and stuck with us in the worst of times. He knew… he knew about what we truly went through, we told him. And he helped us anyway. Loved us anyway. He…” ...what’s that silence for? “They, told me about how their dad used to isolate them socially, stick them to one place, and how they grew jealous of all the other kids who had parents who loved them, parents who took them places instead of keeping them cooped up in their rooms, parents that… didn’t have any agreement between each other to do what they wanted to their children. Together, we figured out ways to fight back against our abusers. I was able to defy the God in the Numbers because of them. Because of their... humanity, that nobody else showed us. Fuck… all that time, we thought we were saving them. But, now we’re together, we realise… they were saving us. If they became a target…”

I hear her sniffle. I feel as if I could cry, but my stupid, stupid body just won’t let me. It won’t let me get up, it won’t let me reach out, call to her, speak to her and tell her that I’m okay, that I’m happy that she’s okay! I wanted her to know, more than anything in the world, that I was thankful for her!

… tell me something,” I hear the other man say. “If there’s something you could say to them right now, if they’re alive, if they could listen... what would it be?” I didn’t want to stop listening to her voice now. If it were me, I know I’d refuse to answer and be out of there, and that’s precisely what I expected from her. We were the same, so I thought. And, hey, they never were the type to wear their heart on their sleeve. But that’s when I heard her again.

“… I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t explain to you what was happening, Alex. But… you saved my life. I wish I knew where you were, and I promise one day we’ll find a way to talk to each other again, someway, somehow, and I’ll tell you, once and for all…

Thank you.”

When I heard those words echoing in my mind, I thought I would break. Shatter like glass on this bed. That I would black out just from hearing her say that, and mean it. It was then that I realised something; for as comatose, unable to act or speak as I was, I was alive.

I’d finally stood up to my dad. It got me where I am now, but it was worth it. When I finally put that bastard in his place, when I made it damn clear that I wasn’t ever going to be a puppet again… I thought of her. I thought of all we’d been through, all she’d taught me. We were just kids, seeking shelter in each other’s misery, but we’d both saved each others’ lives through that. What goes around comes around, I guess.

I want to smile. I want to laugh. I want to scream, I want to cry. I can already feel my mind drifting, her final words echoing in my brain as I slip back into my lack of awareness, the only proof I’ll ever have that the person I once loved and leaned on was alive. Who knows if I’d ever find her again? One thing’s for sure, though, I thought to myself as I drifted through that dark space once more, time losing all meaning in the face of one single, burning objective, my determination already scorching like the sun in my eyes, still forced shut. For as long as it would take for me to get out of here, get back into the world, I carried just one thought; I will wake up from this void, this nightmare. I will live. I will thrive. I’ll be free from the chains that held me down for all those years he stole from me. I will work for myself, and maybe, just maybe… I’ll love again.

I’ll manifest the one thing my dad was right about; I was born for greatness.

And now there’s a world waiting for me that’s worth waking up to. A world with you in it.

Please, for the love of God, wait for me.

However long it takes.

[onewhoturns]

fictober.14.: intermediate frequencies

#Fictober19 Prompt: 14. I can’t come back. Fandom: Oxenfree Characters: Jonas, lost!Alex Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Mystery? kinda?, supernatural, lost Alex, weird radio stuff Word Count: 1807

The messages started out simple. The first one, anyway. It was weird, to come in the middle of some rock ballad from the 80s, but he chocked it up to crossed wires and weird interference (which, well, seemed technically accurate). Skid Row was whaling away a guitar solo, and then—

“Hello out there? This is, um… Cave FM! ‘No. 1 for Cave, Grotto, and Subterranean Country.’ ”

It was a girl’s voice. Not the well-practiced veteran voice of the station DJ, but someone crackling in like some kind of prank broadcast. Gone and done in a few seconds, and back to the music. Jonas glanced at his car radio for a second, skeptically, but shrugged it off.

-

The second message wasn’t exactly terrifying, either. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it at all, half asleep as he was. Same station, Bryan Adams singing on about whatever younger years blah blah— It was 7:05. Jonas wasn’t really paying close attention. But, again, mid-song;

…and the bad. Yeah I'll be stand- “Um… A-Alex? Can you… can you hear me? ”

It cut back to instrumental. But this time it didn’t seem like just a prank call. She didn’t sound… It wasn’t necessarily panic, but it was nervous. At least, he thought it was. But again; over and passed so quickly.

-

The third message was the first one to come from nowhere. His car radio was turned all the way down, between stations after stopping mid-tune when the light had turned green. It was just on static. Until there was a voice.

“Uh, testing, testing… this is a test of the Beach Cave Emergency System? ”

The voice had a kind of nervous laughter to it, like someone put on the spot, covering up anxiety with humor. It was the same girl.

-

The fourth…

The fourth message was when they started to ring bells.

“Hey, i-if you’re out there, uh, Alex? We… We got stranded on Edwards Island… and-”

Edwards Island. That… that was a thing. He’d been there, he’d been stuck there, he’d been terrorized there and only escaped thanks to— to something. Something involving Ren’s friends. He didn’t fully remember the night. But the name was enough to put him on alert.

She was asking for the same person, again. Someone named Alex. Maybe a friend, or a boyfriend, or a brother or something. Maybe a parent or a guardian. Someone who could help.

But the messages had come days apart. And there was no reason she’d be stuck there. The message came at 3pm on a Sunday, from the little radio built in to the kitchen of their new place in Camena. Ferries ran on the Island— well, he didn’t know for sure, but when he’d gone with Ren they’d run at least til five. No reason to be stranded.

-

The fifth message sent chills down his spine.

“Hey, Ren? Nona? Can you guys hear me? It’s Alex, in case you can’t recognize my—”

She always got cut off mid-message. Like someone terminated the broadcast before she was finished.

But that… those were his friends’ names. Those were— those were people who went to the island with him. And her…

Her name was Alex. Which meant all those messages before, they weren’t calling out for help from someone else. They were calling for help from herself.

-

His theory was confirmed while driving around Camena at 11pm on a Wednesday night in early July. He’d just leave his radio on and tuned to static sometimes, wondering what might pop up. Generally it would just be brief staticky half-seconds of advertising jingles or droning AM radio newscasters.

“Alex? This is… you, okay? Just… don’t go into the cave. Whatever you do, don’t go into the cave.”

It was the first message that felt… complete. Like she’d gotten out what she needed to say. And it… it made sense. Things started to add up - or kind of add up, with a hell of a lot of blurry bits in between.

The island had been… something. He didn’t remember a lot of that something. But the cave felt familiar. He didn’t go in, but Michael did. Michael went, and he brought a radio. Radios, like this Alex person was using.

Jonas wanted to know more. It felt like a bad idea, but he felt like he needed to know.

-

“Alex, this is… uh, Alex, and— listen, don’t come to Edwards Island. Whatever you do, just- don’t come here. Stay home. Stay… safe.”

He lay under his covers, staring at his alarm clock. He’d started to leave it running quietly in the background whenever he was sitting around. Any radio, really. It was maybe a little weird, but his dad was usually at work, and when he was home he didn’t comment on it. And it was summer, so there wasn’t a ton to do all day, aside from let Ren drag him around the area. They’d gone to the lake earlier that day.

Jonas’s brow furrowed, rolling over to examine the station. The noise switched back to music. He’d taken to changing stations regularly. It didn’t seem to matter what the frequency was; she’d be there.

-

“Hey! Uh, Jonas? ”

He sat bolt upright in bed, heart suddenly hammering in his chest. It was 2am. He’d been fucking around on his computer and-

“Or- or just to anyone listening, we’re trapped in—”

It cut out, again. He just stared at the radio on his bedside table for a long moment. “Alex…” The name felt odd in his mouth. Like it didn’t quite fit, or was the wrong shape. Which was weird, cause it was common enough. But somehow it felt foreign.

His name. She’d said his name. She’d called out to Ren, to Nona, to herself, and now to him.

Feeling like a bit of an idiot, he awkwardly picked up his little alarm radio. “Um… Alex?” This was stupid. He was talking to a $5 piece of plastic that didn’t even have a microphone. It couldn’t even transmit.

But he knew what could.

-

Panting, red-faced and pumped full of adrenaline, Jonas shifts his truck into gear, reaching for his prize. State-issued radio communications equipment from the forest service. Stolen. Basically: one hardcore walkie-talkie. His eyes are a little too bright, too frantic, clicking on the power switch and starting to press buttons, scanning through the channels like he might find-

“Fuck-”

There’s feedback, and it’s loud. He hurriedly flips off the walkie. That doesn’t even make sense. How could there be-

“Jesus-”

Fucking fuck, Jonas nearly swerved into the next lane over. Thank god the road is empty. 4am is pretty much always dead around here. He hurriedly pulls over.

“Who— is that— are you-”

“Is… Is someone there? ”

“Yes!” Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, this is— this is real time. “Are— are you Alex?”

“Is… If you’re there…” There’s a pause, and the voice drops quieter. “Oh my god, this is�� fuck, you’re being stupid,” the voice on the radio mutters, like she’s trying to talk herself back to her senses.

“Alex, right? It’s-” He feels like an absolute idiot. “It’s Jonas. You-” He’s talking to his radio. His fucking car radio. Like that could ever work in a million years. His enthusiasm stalls. “…You probably can’t even hear me,” he mutters flatly, sighing. Stupid idea. Stupid plan.

But that wasn’t the plan, the plan was-

Jonas fumbles for the walkie again, flicking the switch and the feedback comes on before he flips it off again-

“Motherfucker, how is that-”

His heart is in his throat. That can’t be a coincidence. Not twice in a row. Fuck, is he dreaming?

Jonas turns off the car. The radio dies. He turns back on the walkie-talkie, this time with no wailing whining scream of feedback. He holds down the transmit button for a second, trying to find the words. But… No, there really isn’t anything to say. Just… “Alex?”

There’s a chirp of a finished message as he lets go of the button. Then silence. He’s reaching for the radio dial, thinking maybe that’s the only way to hear a response, when the walkie crackles to life.

“…Who is this? ” She sounds wary. Not exactly cold, but firm. Like she’s expecting it to be some kind of prank. Which is— can she even be pranked? Who is she? What is she?

He holds down the button. “It’s… uh. You- um, you called me. I think. Maybe from the island.” He feels like a dumbass. But also like maybe this is just some kid fucking around on a HAM radio, and his name was just common enough to be picked. Ren and Nona… not so much. But Jonas? It’s not unheard of.

There’s a half chirp of a ping, and Jonas pings back. He’s not sure what else to do.

For a long moment, there’s just silence.

He clicks open the channel again; “Are you still there?”

Another second of silence, and then— “Jonas? ”

Jesus Christ. Her voice is different than before. There’s plenty of standard radio distortion, but she still sounds pained. Like she’s choking on his name. He lets out a long breath. “…Yeah.”

“Oh my God.” Her voice is hushed.

“Who— who are you? How do you know my name?” His head is swimming, because this feels unreal.

“You-” The transmission cuts out. And it doesn’t come back.

“Alex?”

“You don’t remember.” It sounds breathless. Like she’s been punched in the gut.

“…Should I? Do I— have we met or something?” He doesn’t remember any girls named Alex. Or anyone with her voice - and he’s been hearing her voice a lot lately.

“…No. No, we-” It cuts off again, and Jonas starts to think that’s actually intentional on her part. When her voice comes back, it’s quiet and sounds choked and thin. “No. We’ve never met. I don’t—”

He lets the radio silence go on, expecting her to come back any second. She doesn’t. Finally, Jonas risks a ping. There’s a ping back. So she’s still there.

“Alex?”

“-I can’t come back,” she blurts, and it’s cut off quick, but he thinks he hears a bit of a splutter, a cough maybe, or a sob.

“What do you mean?”

Silence. It goes on. He gives her time to formulate her thoughts. He pings.

There’s no response.

“…Alex, are you there?”

Nothing.

He waits for a long time. Five minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. A half hour has passed, and none of his pings have been returned. Finally, Jonas sighs.

Keys turn in the ignition, the truck roaring to life, and he stabs at the radio’s power button just as the feedback starts again. But nothing over the walkie. No exclamation. No ping. He shifts the car into gear, and checks the walkie one last time, just to remember the station; channel 18.

[source for AO3 link]

[poppytheorist]

Me Laughing

must’ve been one hell of a joke

Preamble

So, I was in the middle of writing a piece on [redacted] when Poppy released a 27-minute video of herself laughing. Naturally, that took priority. Sorry for my absence, this post took some time. And by “some time,” I mean “45 hours.”

This may be the best thing I’ve written, but it’s also the most insane thing I’ve written. In fact, I would label this post as ‘maddening.’ It’s possible you won’t be able to look at Poppy the same way again. I know I don’t. You can’t unread this, readers beware, [other dramatic warnings], etc., etc.

Descend when ready.

…

…

…

I thought “Concrete” was pretty #wild, but “Me Laughing” takes the cake. This video is pure lunacy, and I mean that somewhat literally since Poppy does laugh at what appears to be nothing for almost half an hour.

Due to the sheer insanity of “Me Laughing,” I’ve put together a handy little collage to help readers follow along. Behold: my barely passable Paint skills!

the pic for Section 4 basically explains everything

Before we begin, I need to address a few things. There’s at least, like, nine people who read this stuff, and while I can’t say that I envy you, I can say that I appreciate you. Thanks for sticking around.

However, there’s a funny thing that happens when you know you’re writing for an audience. You feel pressured to adapt your style. I feel the need to be a little more careful about some of the things I say, but that’s probably for the best. Hopefully this extra care will result in more coherent posts, but I doubt it.

This post will be long. Partially because “Me Laughing” is long, partially because I’ve padded this out with shaky theory about how the world works. Guess that’s no different than my other posts, but still, feel free to tune that out if you’re just here for the Poppy stuff, though maybe you’ll find some of it interesting.

I tend to write authoritatively, which may be misleading because I’m not always confident about what I’m saying. I simply enjoy taking things to their natural conclusions. Typically, there’s something interesting at the end. Or, at least, a premise insane enough to make writing about it enjoyable. See, for example, my post on “Concrete.” This post won’t be much different, maybe just a little crazier.

Now, I’ve got a funny feeling that some people may think I am “reading too much into this” or that Poppy’s work “isn’t that deep.” Hey, I get it. Those objections are completely understandable. I was once there myself, but now I’ve moved away from thinking that way. I’ll do my best to explain why.

From what I’ve seen, aesthetics (roughly: the study of art) is a total battlefield. Nobody agrees on anything, everybody thinks that only they can ‘properly’ understand art and that everyone else is wrong. There’s people who think beauty is objective, there’s people who think “no, that’s stupid, beauty is obviously subjective,” and there’s even the people who outright deny that aesthetics exists. Recently, we also had the pleasure of witnessing the aesthetics debate become another facet of the everlasting culture war. Think a line from “Play Destroy” sums my thoughts about that up: “oh boy!”

Needless to say, it’s a massive shitshow.

Despite my rather war-torn depiction of modern aesthetics, it might be a good thing that we can never ‘understand’ art. I hear that’s, like, part of the point. If art was ever ‘solved,’ well, we’d be faced with the idea that there is nothing ‘special’ about being human, that we’re just sacks of meat bumbling around with no purpose. Then everybody would, like, die or something. Truth hurts, art heals, let’s stay alive.

Anywho, I mention all this because there’s no rigorous way to determine how ‘deep’ a song (or any piece of art) is. You can’t just take a stick, poke it into some art, and say: “yep, this Poppy song is 75 [metres/fathoms/hands/whatever nonsense unit] deep!” Besides, nobody even agrees what ‘artistic depth’ means, and most attempts to define it flounder. If you listen closely, you can just faintly hear Goodhart laughing.

This is also why people who think they can ‘objectively’ analyze art are dogmatic blowhards. Any amount of rigorous thinking reveals that our standards for what make art ‘good’ or ‘bad’ are entirely baseless. No, seriously, it’s a case of channeling your inner Socrates and repeatedly asking ‘why’ until the other person throws their up their arms, leaves, and stops answering your texts.

We don’t even know what art is, so thinking you can ‘understand’ art and judge its ‘depth’ is pure arrogance. At least, until someone finds a way to math that shit. “Sounds solipsism.” Well, ya gotta start somewhere.

Now, does this mean we should also throw up our arms, say: “screw it” and return to binging Netflix and eating foods that you know aren’t good for you but you eat them anyways because they make you feel good and that’s what you need right now? Well, no, actually.

Even if we aren’t 100% sure what art is, or what we should do with it, there are some theories on art that I would call: “pretty not-terrible.” Some people have spent their entire lives thinking about these things and their insights are fascinating. However, I’m not here to talk theory. If you want to learn more, go pick up a book or something, nerd.

Anyway, one time this German guy said: “without music, life would be a mistake.” He also said that looking at things from multiple perspectives is pretty neat, so that’s what we’re here to do. Turns out art is kinda fun and spending a bit more time thinking about it pays dividends.

See, art just wants to be understood and so does Poppy. I want to give her and Titanic the benefit of the doubt and take them seriously as artists. While I don’t think everything they produce is God’s gift to earth (see: [redacted]), I do enjoy the majority of their work. Plus, the abstract and absurd nature of their content means writing about it is a blast.

Whether I truly believe any of the interpretations I come up with is irrelevant. Hell, I’m not even sure half of what I say even remotely resembles what Poppy and Titanic envisioned. But, that’s not the point. Shallow readings are a dime-a-dozen, see: Genius; I’m here to provide something better. To show that Poppy’s work, or any art, really, can be a whole lot more fun if you spend even just a teensy bit of time analyzing it. Hopefully I can also provide some of the tools to do so.

Enough rambling, let’s get into it.

Intro

At first glance, “Me Laughing” seems like Poppy doing cute ASMR for 27(!!) minutes while simultaneously trolling anyone who expected a video titled “Me Laughing” to be about anything different. Sure, but that reading gets a ‘B’ for ‘Basic.’

Yes, Poppy and Titanic often troll their audience. See: “A live Interview with Poppy.” But the trolling is both part of the delivery of their message and part of the message itself. So while “Me Laughing” looks like a simple ASMR troll video, I’m going to argue that it’s not.

Previously, Poppy released videos like “Delete Your Facebook” and “I’m Poppy.” Fun vids, but they’re made of looped clips. Thirty seconds in and you’ve watched the whole thing. Consider: “Me Laughing” is 27 minutes, but no parts are looped, it’s all original. As always, I’m just here to ask: why?

Since “Me Laughing” is not made up of looped clips, but is instead all original content, there is an inherent progression to the events. Each segment is unique, and when considered sequentially, pieces from each section build on each other to produce an artistic whole.

Yes, that’s a fancy way of saying it has a ‘story.’

Also, if you’ve watched the video, you’ll know that something just feels ‘off.’ If “Me Laughing” was ‘just’ Poppy ASMR, why does she constantly focus on a single point in the distance? What’s with Poppy’s frequent stares into the camera? And why the fuck is she wearing latex?

Clearly, something else is going on.

Detailed Summary

Let’s recall what actually happens in “Me Laughing.” Hopefully this recap will convey a sense of what ‘else’ exactly is going on and make the insane claims later on in the analysis a tad easier to swallow.

“Me Laughing” starts off pretty normally. Sections 1 and 2 are mostly Poppy laughing, as promised. Even in these early sections, however, we can still pick out some peculiar things.

In Section 1, and throughout the video, we see Poppy looking upwards as she laughs, as if she was remembering something funny that happened. Or as if she was thinking about something for a while and suddenly found it hilarious. “Maybe Poppy just looks upward when she laughs.” Doubtful. Try doing it right now. Feels weird, right? Whatever, moving on…

Next oddity: there’s a strange transitioning shot at the start of the video and between Sections 1 and 2 where the camera sweeps over Poppy’s latex-ed body. “Well, maybe Titanic just thought it would be cool to do it like that.” Yes, but why did he think it would be cool? Why that transitioning shot, out of all the possible ones? What purpose does it serve?

Also: Section 1 was a very steady shot, probably filmed using a tripod, or whatever fancy word camera-people use. However, the shot for Section 2 is shaky. Like, weirdly shaky. Maybe even too shaky. And this isn’t the only section filmed this way, half of “Me Laughing” is too. “Well, maybe Titanic can’t hold a camera steady.” No, that doesn’t seem right. We know Titanic can, in fact, hold a camera steady, or, at the very least, he possesses the means to take a steady shot. See: literally all Poppy videos. No, the shaky-cam is intentional. Again, I’m just here to ask: why?

Now, I don’t mean to tip my hand too much here, but to me, the camera’s sway resembles the unsteady gaze of a curious observer. Perhaps one who is timidly stepping around the beheld, drinking in all the angles. Recall my post on “Touch Poppy.” With steady camera shots, it’s easy to forget someone is on the other side, but with unsteady shots, it’s downright impossible to ignore, e.g., “wow, that shaky-cam is really noticeable. What is this, a shitty sequel to the Blair Witch Project?” Perhaps these sections were filmed this way to emphasize the presence of an observer. As for why such a thing would be emphasized—well, we’ll get to that.

Around the 3:30 mark, Poppy shakes her head and clearly utters a, “m-mm,” as in, “nuh-uh, no way.” This gesture is repeated throughout the video. I’ll let you think about that one.

The video continues, and at 3:52 the camera lazily pans down, focusing on Poppy’s body and cutting her head out of the shot for several seconds, similar to the transition shot from Section 1 to 2. Thirty seconds later, the same thing happens. Guess this isn’t just Titanic diversifying the shot composition. It’s also about this point where attempts to pass “Me Laughing” off as anything resembling a ‘normal’ video start to fall apart.

Poppy’s sitting position in Section 3 is both clever and hilarious. It shows her whole get-up, highlighting how absurdly tall her platform shoes are. She also flip-flops her feet back and forth several times as if to further emphasize her mega-shoes. Why would she wear such crazy shoes for a simple video of herself laughing?

That’s not all that’s ‘off’ about Section 3—this is also the first section where Poppy stares at a spot in the distance for a prolonged period of time. In several instances, she quizzically tilts her head to the side, not unlike a faithful dog trying to decipher commands from her master. At 6:23 we also get a clear “huh,” a noise of acknowledgement, of understanding. Further, Section 3 has several stretches of silence where Poppy is no longer laughing. She just sits there while you watch. It’s… unsettling.

Section 4 is shot in a similarly shaky-style to Section 2, but this time with Poppy sitting down. Also, we see instances of Poppy focusing on something off in the distance both when she is laughing and when she is not, as was the case in the previous sections. However, there are some weird things about Section 4 that set it apart from the others and further develop the video.

Around the 8:38 mark, Poppy utters a “mm-mm-mm” sound while shaking her head and staring off into the distance. It’s fairly clear that she is communicating with something off-screen. Perhaps entities that are invisible to us. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say these off-screen entities are the things making her laugh.

We will see more evidence of Poppy supposedly communicating with invisible beings later, however, this is bordering on fetishizing Poppy’s lore as opposed to analyzing her artistic message. If you’re half-learned on Poppy lore (which, you better be, considering the fact that you’re reading this), this would be like focusing on the identity of ‘They’ instead of the significance of ‘They.’ Another example would be focusing on the ‘origin’ of Poppy, e.g., is she an android? Who is her creator? Etc., instead of asking why someone would create the artistic work of Poppy in the first place and/or considering the implications of said work.

If you’ve read anything else I’ve written, perhaps you’ve noticed that I try and stay away from acknowledging that Poppy even has lore. I want to take Poppy seriously, not literally. Or, in “pretentious asshole” terms, to consider her work artistically, not canonically. There are many reasons for this and I didn’t just get here randomly overnight, but that’s for another post.

Edgy ranting aside, there’s another part of Section 4 that I’d like to point out. Before this section, there was only a single instance of Poppy looking into the camera (happened in Section 2), but in Section 4, she frequently looks into the lens, acknowledging that an observer is present. She shoots this observer a flurry of dark and mischievous glances. Then she laughs.

Section 5 features more head shaking, distant staring, etc., but it is also a relatively sad section. Poppy laughs very little, and frequently looks down. Yes, a pun. Poppy has been laughing for most of the video, so why, all of a sudden, does she seem so sad?

Section 6 is shot shakily and close-up. I mean, really close-up. Like, right-in-her-face close-up. To the point where the camera is often out of focus. We’re also given a blatantly voyeuristic sweep over Poppy’s chest as the camera shifts position around her. Further, there are several instances where Poppy looks deep into the camera, with what I refer to as a “model pout,” where she slightly parts her lips and opens her eyes wide. Recall my post on “Computer Boy” where I talked about the fan-idol relationship. That lustful look? It’s for you, except everybody knows it’s not.

Quick note: I will elaborate on this when I talk about “You’re Too Close,” but it’s important to stay mindful and know that despite some uncomfortably voyeuristic shots in “Me Laughing,” it doesn’t necessarily mean that the video, or anyone who worked on it, is, y’know, perverted or something. Depicting the voyeuristic nature of idolism is how we talk about the voyeuristic nature of idolism, the same way that depicting racism is how we talk about racism.

The problem is that nowadays, we are trained to think quickly, not critically. Your initial response (also called your ‘knee-jerk’ response) to Poppy’s work shouldn’t be your final response to it. It’s important to consider context and think carefully. Ask yourself: why would Poppy choose to show you this? What does she want you to think about? What is she trying to tell you?

Section 7 is where things start to get really fucking weird.

Previously, I said that there was something darker lurking in “Me Laughing,” and Section 7 is where this darkness begins to manifest. The segment starts with Poppy having another one of her imaginary conversations with demons or whatever where she nods her head and gives some “mm-hmms” in agreement. Shortly after, she looks right at the camera and laughs in your face. Not only is her laugh absolutely maniacal, but it seems completely sincere too. This section really relates the feeling that you are not in on the ‘joke’—maybe the joke’s about you.

Section 7 also provides a sense of violent foreboding: a creeping feeling that something is going to happen to you, but you don’t know what that ‘something’ is, and you have absolutely no power to stop it. What really drives this sense of helplessness home is the way the scene is shot. At one point, the camera spends a few seconds just looking at Poppy’s hand. This emphasizes your lack of control. You are completely at the mercy of the camera’s whims. You only see what is shown to you. Then, as the scene closes, the camera is put down in front of Poppy, and, after a few tense seconds, she slowly reorients her body and starts crawling towards you. Luckily, the camera is picked up before she reaches it—you were saved, but what if you hadn’t been?

Oh, right, I forgot to mention: Poppy didn’t laugh much in this section.

Section 8 is a more amped-up version of Section 6. We get Poppy staring deep into the camera for almost the entire scene’s duration. Her lustful gaze relates a feeling of vulnerability, like you are spying on a defenseless little girl, but at the same time, it feels like she is giving you one last dose of what you want before she brutally murders you.

Section 9 is fairly straightforward. We have Poppy staring at a fixed point in the distance as if she is receiving orders from her alien overlord. We also get several rapid glances toward the camera, as if her orders somehow involve you, or as if she and someone else are sharing gossip about you right in front of your face.

…

…

…And then Section 10 happens.

Poppy says: “goodbye.”

In Section 10 we have a bit of a climax. No, not that kind of climax. Well, unless this essay is really doing it for you.

The first interpretation of Section 10 is fairly basic, Poppy is waving goodbye because you’re about to die. Obviously, whatever scheme she and her invisible monster friends cooked up is going to be carried out, and it’s probably going to result in the destruction of everything, yourself included. This is sad, probably, but she seems to find it highly amusing. Again, I’m not a fan of obsessing over canon or lore, so I’ll tackle this one slightly differently in the analysis, but I do think this reading of “Me Laughing” is at least semi-faithful to Poppy and Titanic’s vision. This interpretation also serves as a very nice teaser for P3. I mean, if “Do you disagree?” has told us anything, P3 will have a lot of destroying.

The next reading of Section 10 involves the objectifying nature of idolism. Yes, the $5 words are starting to come out, brace yourself. Anyway, in this section, Poppy giggles as she waggles her hands around, back and forth then forth and back, as though she is using her hands for the first time. Almost like a shiny, new automaton discovering its motor functions. It’s cute, but silly. And by silly, I mean overly silly. You have to remember that Poppy is played by a woman in her mid-20s. Reminds me of some lines from “Hard Feelings”: “my arms and my legs are so stiff / Is that the way you wanted it?” Or, rather, is this how you want her to act?

At the end of the section, the camera moves right up to Poppy’s face and she looks at you and just… stares.

…

…

…

And stares…

…

…

…

And stares…

…

…

…

She knows.

Finally, we get to Section 11, which would be my main argument against the totally boring ‘Poppy communicating with demons’ reading. Poppy is seated, again, with her arms wrapped around her thighs. Note again the sense of her smallness and vulnerability transmitted by her sitting position. Also note the way the shot is filmed, with the camera looking down on Poppy and frequently swooping in for close passes.

And then, in the last two seconds, something really bizarre happens. For a brief moment, some foreign object enters the shot, just in the very corner. Now, I’m about to make a weird argument, be wary of it. Other than the random piece of equipment entering the shot, “Me Laughing” does not end off on a noteworthy moment. Just Poppy sitting there, looking up at the camera. Plenty of instances of that. The video could have easily been trimmed by 2 seconds and nothing would have changed. We can also (probably) assume that somebody carefully reviewed this video before it was uploaded.

We’re left the possibility that those last two seconds were left in the video for a reason. And that reason is—

Hey, wait a minute, was that a mirror?

Analysis

“Me Laughing” is a really interesting video, and you can have a lot of fun if you spend some time looking into it, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’ll tackle it from several different angles, watch for the switches.

Quick words of warning here: I’m about to use the words ‘parody,’ ‘satire,’ and ‘sarcasm’ interchangeably, a practice some would refer to as: “really fucking lazy.” Frankly, I don’t give a damn, I’m not a professional, I’m going to type my silly words anyway and you can’t stop me.

As content loses any sense of shame in attempting to draw your attention, nuance withers away and it becomes harder and harder to differentiate parody from parodied. For example, is “Old Town Road” criticizing the state of the music industry or embracing it? Now, I’m positive that Lil Nas X has the self-awareness of my pug when he’s lapping up his own boogers, yet I personally couldn’t write a song that so perfectly encapsulates everything wrong with modern music. So, is “Old Town Road” a parody or not?

This is where someone ripping off Westworld would say: “if you can’t tell, does it matter?” to which I would answer: “yes, yes it does.”

Context may be fleeting, unreliable, and arguably nonexistent, but I still believe it’s possible to differentiate parody from parodied, it just takes a little more effort. See, I think “Me Laughing” is satirical as hell, especially considering its context within Poppy’s body of work and how it compares to mainstream internet content.

First, consider that the frankly-titled video “Me Laughing” was hyped up for three days before it ‘premiered’ on YouTube. Hilarious, but also incisive. Who waits three days to see someone laugh? “Well, I did.” Ah.

The sarcastic nature of the video also shines through in the description, which reads: “A motion picture starring Poppy.” There’s a tired, yet necessary, statement here on the continuing degradation of internet content. What won’t people eat up?

We all know Poppy’s no stranger to sarcasm. See: “Bleach Blonde Baby” or “Poppy loves Politics.” She will often refer to her videos as “high quality internet content,” while uploading videos of herself eating cotton candy or ‘ooo-ing’ at things. With “Me Laughing,” a video where she laughs for 27 minutes, Poppy further questions where the line is regarding what content people will happily consume.

Fun story: I’ve seen people call “Me Laughing” ASMR. In fact, I think I did, at some point. Huh, I should probably change that. This isn’t totally wrong, but know that “Me Laughing” takes so many shots at ASMR you’d think the video shared a set with Sicario. And, if that’s the case, they could have saved some money and just filmed the video in my neighborhood haha… hah… ha… (seriously though I’m in danger)

Considering “Me Laughing” as a genuine ASMR video would obviously be antithetical to Poppy’s entire body of work. Recall lyrics like: “Poppy is an object.” No, “Me Laughing” is much more than simply Poppy recording cute ASMR.

Poppy has been questioning the nature of people’s ASMR obsession since her first YouTube video, “Poppy Eats Cotton Candy,” where she had the mic uncomfortably close to her throat so her little gulps and coos were clearly audible. What leads to people wanting to hear these things?

Zoom out: many of Poppy’s videos are about obsession. Forget that and the point will fly right over your head. Let’s now reframe the question: why would people want to hear such intimate sounds from Poppy? Answer that and “Me Laughing” will make a lot more sense.

What I’m about to say next will be very dense because it will outline the thesis of a large part of Poppy’s work. Sorry, hopefully it’s still readable. I’m still developing my interpretations of her work, and I promise to expand and explain them more in the future.

I’m also sure some fans will want to stab me in the neck with a rusty spoon for this post because it’ll appear like I am directly criticizing them. In reality, I am actually insinuating that Poppy is criticizing them, but nuance is dead, knee-jerk reactions reign supreme. Whatever. If you react that way, it means you’re so eyeballs deep in obsession that you fail to realize why Poppy courts your obsession in the first place. Poppy’s work entices fans to obsess over her, but it also berates those who do so.

Note that this is all as a means of criticizing the status-quo. And guess what: fans are part of the status-quo. It stings when you realize your idol’s criticisms are actually about you, but I’m not convinced Poppy is malicious. She wants you to be a better person.

This is my best estimate of her thesis: the nature of the objectification of celebrities is rooted in a sexual obsession—that is, a desire for their bodies. Pun intended. Objectification stems from fantasizing over what the celebrity shows you, which is almost always physical, or at least results in the fantasy manifesting itself as a physical representation.

In other words: “everybody wants to be Poppy.”

Poppy recognizes the inherently sexual obsession with figures in the ASMR community. She wears latex in “Me Laughing” to draw attention to this. It’s as if she was saying: “this is what you’re here for, right?”

Note that obsession is inherently progressive. It grows and grows, eventually leading to fans voyeuristically observing the objectified person’s intimate bodily functions. This culminates in “Me Laughing.” Poppy knows what you want, but as payment, she’s going to leave a nagging feeling in your brain that somehow you have done something wrong. That you shouldn’t really be watching this video, but she knows you are.

Recall Titanic’s comments about making people slightly uncomfortable. Consuming is harder with a lump in your throat. The key to understanding Poppy’s work is to ask why she wants you to feel uncomfortable. What about your behavior does she want you to realize?

Earlier in the post, I mentioned that I’m not a huge fan of the whole ‘Poppy talking to demons about destroying the world’ reading because it comes dangerously close to obsessing over her lore. Lore is like history without the usefulness, so I’m going to ignore it. Regardless, I said I would use that interpretation for something more interesting, so I’d like to ask:

What makes someone want to destroy the world?

Throughout “Me Laughing,” Poppy shoots dark glares at the camera. There’s something sinister in her eyes, something genuinely evil lurking in her gaze. We know she obviously has an immense disdain for the status-quo. What else would lead to lyrics like: “down, let it all burn down / burn it to the ground”?

Preceding any cries of “viva la revolución!” or “apocalypse, now!” is an implicit judgement that what is left of the world is either not able to be saved, or not worth saving. That tearing everything down and beginning anew is preferable to salvaging what remains. To reach such a mindset, one would need to see modern society with such disgust and be so disenchanted with our current world that it no longer appears worth preserving. One would also need to have given up hope on the ability for people to come together and solve their problems. To have lost hope in humanity’s ability to adapt and overcome. To think that perhaps our problems have become too big for us to solve, that perhaps we have finally dug too deep a hole to climb out of.

Again, people don’t reach a hopeless mindset overnight; it takes many steps to descend into the darkness. But, the numpties on r/GetMotivated tell me, “every journey begins with a single step,” so let’s take one together.

In a tweet, I mentioned that “Me Laughing” was also about absurdism. No, that wasn’t a typo for ‘absurdity.’ I may write ridiculously deep-dives into Poppy lyrics and lore, but I try not to waste words.

Anyway, let’s play a game. I call it the “imagine something real quick because I need to prove a point” game.

Imagine being stuck in a system. Yes, it’s cliché to use the word ‘system,’ and any time you do, it carries the connotation that you are some conspiracy nut, e.g., “you can’t trust the system man!” I understand all this, please just bear with me and let me use the word, it’s useful. Anyway, you don’t like the system because a lot of the system is bad and it’s slowly, but surely, getting worse. The cracks are starting to show and the whole thing is poised to come crumbling down. Okay, that’s not good, you want to tell people about this. To warn them. However, in order to obtain a sizable audience for your message, you need to first succeed within the system, and to do that, you need to play by the system’s rules.

Okay, no sweat, you release some pop songs. There’s a couple of them that people really dig. Unfortunately, the songs people like don’t contain much of your message. They have a watered-down version of it at best. That’s a little sad, but oh well, at least you’re getting some sort of message out there. Hey, maybe if you make the music video really weird, people will realize there’s something more going on! Hm, that didn’t seem to work either.

So you release some YouTube videos too. Some of them are pretty biting, especially that one on politics. Should get people thinking, right? Hah, no, wrong. People like them, yes, but not for the reasons you want. They like them because they’re “weird” and “addictive” e.g., “its 3 AM on a school night and I’m still watching Poppy videos why can’t I stop lolol.” Imagining that the videos contain some sort of Illuminati-esque hidden message to decode is preferable to examining the real-world implications of the work. Plus, like, there’s experts for that, right?

Anyway, a couple albums and hundreds of videos later, you have a sizable following, sweet, now you can transition to doing what you’ve always wanted to. Change the persona to something a little truer to yourself. Make your message a little clearer. Finally, you have the power to change the world like you always promised you would.

Uh-oh, Houston, we’ve got a problem. Your audience listened to you for X, but now you’re giving them Y. It’s not a total loss, though. You have a lot of loyal members in your audience, and they like your new stuff too. Doesn’t matter what you make, they’re loyal, they’ll watch/listen/whatever to it. Their dedication has become investment which has become even more dedication. In fact, they’ve been following you since the start, when you were first trying to get big. “Yes, but I was trying to get big because I wanted to spread a message and to do that I had to make compromises to grow an audience so people would liste—“

They also have their own ideas of what you’re saying, plus, like, they make neat art, here, check this out, please give this a listen, look at this, read this, please, please? “Hey, nice article. Wait, the next one is how many words?!” And you keep every piece of fan art because it really does mean a lot to you. “Wow, I appreciate it, that’s beautiful, thank you. Oh, what? There’s even more?” Hey, if you have spare minute, could you give a shout-out to my friend? It’s her birthday. “Sure, hold on…” It’s also my birthday tomorrow, could you give this post a like? “Um, okay, just give me a minut—“ Also, could you answer my DM on Instagram? It’s important. And after that there’s only 100 more to answer! kk thanks! “Wait… one second… whoa!”

Now you’re releasing Z, hopefully that will get your message across…

…

…

…

Wait—what was your message again?

…

…

…

Oh no.

…

…

…

Somewhere along the way, probably between performing [this] and signing [that], the essence of your message was lost. Whatever remains has been drowned out by the noise of the system. If we’re talking decibels, notifications are loud, problems are whispers, and these days everyone’s got ear plugs.

Thinking about problems is hard, thinking about them for too long is sad, being sad is uncomfortable, hey, look, Taylor Swift just dropped a new album, that “Lover” song is dope, let’s look at memes.

So, you want to change the system. But to change the system you need power. To get power, you need an audience. But the only way to get an audience is to make content that gets rewarded by the system. And the content that gets rewarded by the system is that which is easily digestible for a large audience, i.e., devoid of substance. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think “Turn Down for What” resulted in much positive social change. “Well, maybe the system should reward content that is creative, challenging, and conscientious instead!” Ah, yes, I see what you mean. So, you want to change the system…

Pass the mic, Camus, I’ve got a real knee-slapper for ya. Oh, right, guess I’ll just grab it myself.

These days, we’re faced with a new kind of absurdism, one which involves recognizing that societal systems are getting worse and need changing, while simultaneously recognizing that you are chained by said systems, and thus, powerless to change them.

This new absurdism describes the maddening exercise in doublethink where people wrestle with the knowledge that they should be Making The World A Better Place but also the knowledge that they cannot possibly live in a way that satisfies such capitalized phrases. The end result is a mental tearing fueled by impossible societal expectations and the inevitable guilt of failing to live up to them.

After a while, people stop fighting. They give up. They give in. When enough people throw in the towel, all that’s left is to hold on tight and enjoy the ride, e.g., the trajectory is set, all aboard, no, there aren’t enough seat belts for everyone, must have been one of those damn cost-saving initiatives.

“Yeah, that definitely sounds absurd. So… what do we do about it?”

Well, sometimes all you can do is laugh.

[anarchist-puppet-on-strings]

“You See Him Too, Right?”

SUMMARY: After his kids ask him to check for monsters under their bed, Chase begins to notice weird things.

Chase thought Stacy had been half kidding when she had warned him that the kids had been more skittish than usual. They’re abnormally quiet and their eyes are often drawn to the opposite sides of the room. It's only when bedtime comes when he realizes the extent of the problem.

Trey’s the one who asks.

“Daddy, can you check under our bed for monsters?”

“Kiddo, this is my room. I sleep here every night.” He shoots him an amused glance. “I can guarantee there's no monsters here.”

“He follows us,” Sam squeaks out.

That earns a raised eyebrow.

“He?”

Trey shrugs self consciously, picking at the threads of a cheap blanket. “We dun know his name.”

He pauses. It's odd Trey is telling him this. Trey is ten now. He's surprisingly mature and clever for his age. He seemed a bit old for the whole “monster under the bed” thing.

“Well, I’ll check anyways if that makes you happy.”

He could feel the two’s eyes on him as he knelt down and looked under the bed. As he expected, there was nothing there.

Chase gave a reassuring thumbs up from below. "Nothing down here, kiddos!"

"Can you check the closet too?"

The closet yielded the same result as underneath the bed. Both of his kids looked more at ease. Sam had latched onto Trey already, using him in lieu of a teddy bear. He had tried to push her away but eventually gave in and allowed it, appearing tired and disgruntled.

After the two had gotten their bedtime forehead kiss and the light had been flipped off was when Chase was able to relax on the couch with tv turned down low as background noise.

At one point, something out of the corner of his eye shifted in the darkness. He couldn't make out an exact shape but it moved quickly and silently. When he turned and looked out where the thing had been, there nothing but a small, dark kitchen.

It's nothing. He's tired and the dark plays tricks on the eyes.

He couldn't help the prickling unease that brought all his hairs on end from washing over him though.

Call Chase paranoid but he's been on edge the past few days after his kids left to return to their mother's house. There's nobody else in his apartment but the feeling of somebody's eyes on him wouldn't go away. It's infuriating!

It left sometimes—disappearing for anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours—but it always came back. It's hard to sleep under the impression you're being watched. He'd get drunk and ignore it but he's wary of getting drunk in case there actually was someone. But hey, that's the anxiety talking.

So instead of turning this into some big kinda thing, he talked to thin air. His hopes to dispel the tense atmosphere worked—kinda. He had to admit it's much funnier dealing with a problem when he didn't take it seriously.

It's easier talking and joking with an unseen presence than going to therapy and going on meds.

As much as he's convinced the anxiety is amping up his paranoia, he had an odd feeling someone else was hearing all the bullshit he talked about to himself.

It's been one of those weeks. The weeks where everything blurs together and his brain is mushy. Chase sleeps way too often because he's constantly tired no matter how much tea or coffee he drinks and how much sleep he gets. It's been the kind of week where he sleeps so much he forgets to eat and drink until he's forced to do it when it becomes unbearable. The one where he's holed up inside his house because he'd been calling in sick for the past few days. The kind where he isn't sure he'd been sleeping or just zoning out.

Basically, he wanted to die.

Chase squinted, eyebrows knit together in confusion as he struggled to remember whether he left the tv on or not. It's on a channel he didn't even have, loud static blaring from the speakers. It's entirely plausible he'd done it while intoxicated or just couldn’t remember it. He shrugged and muted it before switching it off.

When the power cut out with a dying hum, Chase couldn't help but groan.

This is stupid. It's so stupid and it's annoying. He hates it.

His power has been going out sporadically for the past week and apparently it's just his apartment. He's been paying his rent, so his landlord concluded there must be something wrong with the wiring, and they're sending over an electrician in a few days.

He blinked when the power flickered back to life.

Huh... that's faster than usual. Oh well.

The electrician found nothing wrong but the power had gone out while she was over. She's baffled.

He may not have the greatest memory (in fact, his is really shitty) but he's certain he's turning off lights. The whole point of turning off lights is to save power, but either he's sleepwalking or this is a part of the shitty power situation!

Every night it's the same. He flicks off all the lights and heads to bed. In the morning... or whenever he wakes up really, a light—or all of them—are turned on.

It’s confusing. He’s even started writing down that he turns them off before crashing. At this point, he’s given up turning the lights off before going to bed.

Now they’re turning themselves off.

When he hears the whistle, he nearly drops his glass of water. He spun around, met with nothing but the darkness around him. It had been brief and sharp with no tune or melody at all.

"What the fuck?" He breathed to himself.

Chase flips on the lights and walks around the kitchen, trying to find the source of the noise.

He scratched his head with a frown.

Trying to recreate the whistle had no success either. He simply couldn’t match the lack of tune it had. That rules out the possibility of him whistling without realizing it.

Besides… it came from a few feet behind him.

He'd been staring at his water stained ceiling for over two consecutive hours when one of the floorboards creaks out in the hall. Like the kind of creak when he walks down the hall. He stiffens up and his eyes flash over to the closed door. A shadow passes by the crack under his door.

He waits another minute or two, fully expecting whoever was waiting outside to barge in and kill him already. But nothing happened.

He’s not ashamed to say he nearly screamed when something brushed against the back of his neck. It’s featherlight and the touch zapped him like static electricity. Of course, when he whirled around, eyes wild, there’s nothing.

It's totally possible he could be hallucinating or something. His paranoia has been through the roof with every little thing that happens. But it just felt too... real. Like somebody had actually been there and reached out and brushed their fingers against his neck.

Chase can't help but wonder if he's going insane.

Sometimes when he’s teetering on the edge of consciousness and falling asleep, he hears things. Things like low hissing and heavy, wet breathing. Something tapping in an inane rhythm against the hardwood flooring as weight shifts outside in the hall. Scratching—like his ex’s cat used to do when he got bored but louder.

And… and a weird voice? A distorted one warped beyond recognition that jumps high and low. He’s never picked up on any words—it’s all just nearly inaudible whispers that barely reach his ears.

He isn’t sure why his brain chooses to latch onto these bits of information. Your brain makes up weird things when it isn’t fully working properly.

Maybe it’s because he’s staring at deep gouges in the floor out in the hallway. It looks like some angry cat from hell got bored and destroyed his floor in a fit of rage.

Chase gets closure when his kids come back to visit a month after their first visit.

Quiet noises from his room caught his attention and his parental instinct kicked in. He needed to make sure his kids were fast asleep and undisturbed. Cracking the door open to allow the hall light to spill in and then peering in, he’s met with a ghastly sight.

Trey and Samantha are both sitting up, staring at the same spot as their father.

Something that nearly reached the low ceiling of the apartment while hunched over with big teeth, lots of glowing neon eyes, and a second mouth on its neck.

Trey turns to him with wide eyes and whispers, “You see him too, right?”

(A/N) Wow... two in a day huh...

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers, @stuck-in-a-l-o-o-p, @bloodsoakedheretic

[mel-is-sanonymous1994]

1. Anything could Happen

SYDNEYS POV

“Listen up guys, now I know what you are thinking, Sydney this isn’t your usual filming area, it looks kinda dirty too, and empty, were you kidnapped?” I said in a higher pitch voice as the camera started filming.

“Well to answer that question i’m sure sooo many of you are asking, I moved, I finally made the move to LA. So I am sitting in my currently empty apartment, but unfortunately this will not be an apartment tour or even a moving vlog, instead I have a friend here to help me tell you what today’s video is gonna be about.” I said gesturing for my friend to come in.

“Hey guys, I’m Zane Hijazi, I also have a youtube channel.” He said sitting down next to me.

“All of his stuff will be linked in the description because he is going to help me pull this whole thing off and because he is a genuinely amazing person.” I said nudging him and pointing down as if I was pointing to the description box.

“Thank you, that means so much.” He said smiling. I smiled back and faced the camera one more time.

“Should we explain what we are going to attempt to do?” Zane asked.

“Oh hell yeah.” I said with an evil smile.

“So it all started when I first moved here, keep in mind guys i’ve been here for a solid week. Anyway I was moving what little stuff I had and saw Zane in the elevator, he helped me juggle the two boxes I had convinced myself I could carry alone.” I started.

“So we got to talking and she asked if I lived in the building, to which I replied that I didn’t.” He continued.

“So then he explained that his friend David used to live in this apartment building and how his friend Alex and Dom still live there. So like the rest of america I freaked out, I immediately recognized who Zane really was and what David he meant.” I said getting excited.

“And I didn’t run away, I helped her bring more of her things into her apartment.” He said nudging me lightly.

“And at one point he mentioned Davids pranks and how he had thought of an idea to get him back just now as soon as he met me.” I said moving my hands a lot.

“And that brings us to the prank.” Zane said getting excited.

“So all of you know that frequently David, Alex and Dom do stuff on their balcony including throwing stuff off of the balcony.” I said.

“Oh one thing we should mention which Sydneys viewers should know is she dabbles in special FX makeup.” Zane said.

“I made one video making it look like I got stabbed a couple times, not a big deal.” I said humbly.

“Not a big deal my ass, it looked so fucking real, anyway so I thought I would attempt to convince David to drop a breakaway wine bottle down a couple floors to the sidewalk where I would be to “catch” it.” He said.

“Now we are filming this before we try to execute the actual prank” I mentioned. Zane nodded.

“Now the trick is David is going to be blindfolded, while he is waiting to drop it we will bring Sydney out and she is going to be holding something over her body which is already going to be all gored out, then before David takes his blindfold off we will cover her in the breakaway glass and she will be on the ground “unconscious” “ Zane finished.

“And if this all works I will get to meet David and have him hate me all in one video, so stay tuned to find out if we can actually fucking pull this shit off.” I said as I pressed the stop button on the camera.

“Do you think he’s gonna go for it?” I asked.

“Only way to find out is to try it. Now chill here until I text you. Let me text David and see if he’s on his way here.” Zane said. Instead of texting David he called him and put him on speaker. I zipped my lips.

“Hey Dave?” He answered.

“What’s up?” David answered on the other side of the phone. I almost freaked out, truth be told I had a little bit of a crush on David.

“You are on your way to the apartment right?” He asked.

“Yeah, I gotta pick up Brandon and I’ll be right over.” He said.

“Ok see you soon.” Zane said.

“See you soon.” David replied and hung up.

“So you go get all gored out and I will be waiting in the apartment. Here’s one of the breakaway bottles it’d be cooler if one of the broken pieces is stuck somewhere in your body.” Zane said. I nodded as he got up to leave. I pressed play on my camera once again as I began applying the special effects makeup. About 20 minutes later I was ready and had a bottle of fake blood in my pocket. I texted Zane.

Me:Ready

Zane:Perfect David just pulled out his camera to film some bits.

ZANE’S POV

“Hey David, can we do something for a bit for my vlog?” I asked.

“What is it?” He asked excited.

“Well it involves you and a blindfold but don’t worry we won’t be bringing any animals in here, i’m not David Dobrik rich.” I said pulling out my camera.

“Ok let’s do it.” He said handing his camera to Brandon. I had texted everyone else in the room about the surprise that was going to be taking place and I had Davids Assistant on standby to pretend to be 911. I handed him the blindfold and the bottles.

“Ok so i'm gonna go downstairs on the sidewalk and you will blindfold yourself then when I yell up you are gonna drop one of the bottles off the balcony and I will catch it.

“This is a stupid idea.” He said.

“I know but let’s just do it.” I said getting nervous. I watched Brandon blindfold David. I gave everyone a thumbs up and texted Sydney before I left the room.

DAVIDS POV

As soon as the blindfold was put on I got nervous, this was genuinely a stupid idea and I have no idea why I agreed to do it.

“Ok David we are gonna walk you to the balcony.” Brandon said leading me there.

“If you guys push me off this balcony I will haunt you all.” I threatened.

“Trust us David, you die so do the views.” Dom joked.

“First off I don’t trust you with anything Dom.” I said getting nervous. I felt the air as they opened the balcony door. I walked a little further and I could feel I was at the railing.

“OK DAVID WHEN I COUNT TO THREE DROP THE FIRST ONE.” Zane yelled from the ground. I gave him a thumbs up.

“1, 2, 3.” He counted and I dropped the first one. A couple seconds later everyone cheered.

“NICE DAVID HE CAUGHT IT, LET’S DO ONE MORE THIS TIME DROP TWO AT A TIME.” Zane yelled sounding excited. 2 champagne bottles were placed in my hands. I shook my head but waited for the signal.

SYDNEY’S POV

Zane caught the first one to get David’s trust but the second time I walked out from the shadows and laid on the ground Zane quickly put fresh fake blood in my cuts and stuff.

“OK DAVID READY?” Zane yelled up. David gave a thumbs up.

“Sydney you ready?” He asked. I nodded with a smirk and laid there like I was knocked out.

“OK DROP ONE AND THEN A COUPLE SECONDS LATER DROP THE SECOND ONE ON THE COUNT OF 3” Zane yelled.

“1,2,3” Zane counted and soon fell the first bottle hitting me directly in the arms. It hurt a little bit but I was prepared for it.

“HEY WATCH OUT.” Zane yelled for affect. And the second bottle hit my legs successfully making the few leg cuts believable. That one hurt a little more which made my acting believable as well.

“DAVID OH MY GOD.” Zane yelled out. This was my cue to keep my eyes closed.

DAVIDS POV

I heard Zane countdown and then a couple seconds after I dropped the first bottle I heard “HEY WATCH OUT” but I was already dropping the second one. What curdled my blood was when he yelled out

“DAVID OH MY GOD.” I immediately took off my blindfold and looked over the railing. Laying there on the ground was an innocent girl who must’ve been hit by the bottles. She looked like she was unconscious.

“I’M CALLING 911 DAVID GET DOWN HERE.” Zane yelled out as he showed me his phone. I was immediately running out of the apartment and down the stairs taking them two by two jumping the remainder. I heard the rest of the boys following me.

“David what did you do?” Brandon said looking afraid. I got more nervous as I walked out of the front door and actually saw the girl laying on the floor. She had cuts all over her body but the worst was a piece of the bottle that was still stuck in her arm. She had a few prominent cuts on her face and a couple on her arms and legs.

“David get over here and put pressure on this one.” Zane called as he was on the phone with 911. I did as Zane said. I saw joe was filming still.

“Joe why are you still filming this is serious.” I said. Joe apologized and set the camera down.

“David she’s burning up, it's hot as fuck out here we need to get her inside.” Alex said wiping her forehead.

“We can’t the ambulance will be here soon.” I assured them.

“There was a big accident on the freeway a 15 car pile up at least 10 people injured, they will get here as soon as they can. Let’s get her inside man.” Zane said as he hung up the phone.

“Well stay on the line how are we gonna know when they are coming.” I panicked.

“David calm down, help us carry her upstairs.” Brandon said. Brandon grabbed her upper body and I grabbed her legs. Once we were back in the apartment we laid her on the couch and Zane went to get some ice and water.

“Please be okay.” I said nervously.

“David she hasn’t woken yet, what the hell did you do.” Alex yelled.

“I didn’t do anything, I just did what Zane told me to, I knew this was a stupid idea.” I said starting to tear up.

“Here wipe off some of the blood.” Zane instructed.

“Yeah if she gets blood all over my couch I’m kicking her ass.” Dom said crossing his arms.

“Shut the fuck up Dom.” I yelled. I started wiping one of the shallower wounds on her leg and as I wiped I realized that there wasn’t even a scratch under the blood. I wiped another one and it was the same thing, All of the sudden the girl popped up.

“Do you think the blood will stain.” She said with a blank expression. I put my hand over my heart and began pacing.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I yelled.

“Got you.” Zane said with a smirk.

“You guys are fucking assholes every single one of you.” I said walking out of the apartment and pacing the hall.

SYDNEY'S POV

“I think we made him mad.” I said.

“I think so too, someone should go talk to him.” Alex suggested.

“I’ll do it, give me that towel.” I said grabbing the towel from Zane and walking towards the front door. I took a deep breath as I opened the door.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked as I shut the door behind me.

“How.” He asked. I moved here about a week ago, met Zane in the elevator after discovering I was a youtuber who did one special FX makeup video he came up with this plan.” I said wiping the remainder of the makeup off. I got most of the makeup except the bits with the bottle sticking in it.

“Who was on the other side of the 911 phone call?” He asked still pacing.

“Natalie, Zane asked her for help and she wanted payback for the lizard.” I said trying to clean up the bottle cut.

“Let me help.” David said standing by me and helping me clean up the “cut”.

“Why?” He asked.

“Zane found out I was a big fan of yours, I didn’t wanna be that person that blatantly asks to meet you because I find that rude but Zane suggested it when he found out, he thought you would find me friendly and funny.” I said smiling.

“Oh Ok.” He said.

“Sorry if we made you mad.” I said.

“No that was the perfect prank, I respect that, besides you are pretty funny, not to mention even covered in blood your beautiful, just remember payback is a bitch.” David said. I blushed.

[tetsuocommittee]

“Man, that’s sick!” exclaimed one of the boys, glancing at the television, and right before Kaneda changed the channel.

It was Azuma, the owner of the bike.

“You missed a spot.” said the other, then pointing “Over there.”

It was Takeo, Azuma’s little brother.

Both of them had been coming quite frequently, even when Azuma didn’t need anything. The place was just becoming a regular hangout for them.

“Why don’t you use the drill? Wouldn’t it be faster?” remarked Takeo, once again.

Kaneda inhaled in a bit of an annoyed manner, but it only lasted a second before he switched back to the smirk.

“Because I’m showing him how it’s done, and he’s not ready for the drill.” he replied, turning to them “He has to learn how to use the towel first.”

“I bet those weirdos went to the ruins…” said Azuma, still looking at the television, as if the suicides report was still there “Saw things and got all messed up, you know?”

Takeo raised an eyebrow at his absolute lack of attention, and then at Kaneda.

“If you really think he’s gonna polish his shit by himself someday, then you’re even more of a dumbass than I thought.” he said.

“Okay, Azuma!?” barked Kaneda, nearly throwing the towel to the floor “Azuma, this isn’t a fucking daycare. Either your brother shuts it or gets the fuck out.”

“What?” replied Azuma, finally tuning in, and turning to his brother “The fuck are you doing now, runt?”

Takeo shrugged.

“Sticking it to the old people?” he jeered, with a little smirk of his own.

“I’m not even thirty yet, you little shit!” snapped Kaneda, which only made him smirk more noticeably “You scamps are lucky Kai likes you, because if it was up to me…”

“Have you ever gone to the ruins, Kaneda?” interrupted Azuma.

He was clearly still thinking about that.

Kaneda paused for a moment, and then smirked again.

“Why, are you planning to go yourself? With your friends?” he inquired, resuming the polishing “Is it gonna be one of those tests of courage?”

“Maybe…” muttered Azuma, rubbing the back of his head “I’m mostly worried about the cops though, I don’t believe in any of that ghostly bull…”

“Good, because you wouldn’t have found it anyway.” stated Kaneda “At least back in the day there was something left, now it’s just rubble and more rubble…”

“You know only old people say ‘back in the day’, right?” intervened Takeo, looking deadpan.

“So you have?” intervened Azuma, looking intrigued “Been there? Did you see Lord Akira, whoever the fuck that is? Seriously, what’s with that guy?”

Kaneda shrugged.

“Beats me.”

“Must be some spooky story someone made up.” supposed Takeo “Sounds like some suicide god…”

“It’s bull, really.” continued Azuma “Nobody can force you to kill yourself, it’s just… the power of suggestion? I think that’s how it’s called.”

“Then you should be fine, your skull is too thick for that.” concluded Takeo, and Kaneda couldn’t help snickering.

He had to admit the boys could get kind of endearing, in a kind of nostalgic way…

Too bad Kai was missing it.

But, then again, he was still dealing with a more serious issue on the phone.

“Mind control? Really?” he inquired, with a slightly anxious frown.

“Just think about it…” replied Kei, from the other side “Other espers… They have done it to me. They have made me do things without realizing. It is possible…”

“No, yeah…” fumbled Kai, running a hand through his fringe “It’s not like I’m not believing you, I’m actually…”

Then he began to to ponder.

“Shit, Kei, I’m sure…”

And try to recall, but it was difficult. It was blurry.

Yet…

“I’m sure I’ve heard of something like this before…”

Then Kei blinked in surprise, and so did Makiko next to her.

“What…?” muttered Kei “You mean…”

“The random suicides, yes.” replied Kai “It could have been just a myth though, but… I’m gonna look into it later, just in case…”

If only he listened more, back when it had been told to him.

Back when he was still a careless teen.

“Alright, but don’t overwork yourself.” said Kei “For all we know, it could be nothing. It could be just a lot of desperate people wanting out…”

The city was certainly in enough shambles to allow it.

But Makiko didn’t seem to agree. Makiko was still looking concerned.

And so was Kai.

“I don’t know, Kei…” he sighed “If they keep saying the guy has powers, I’m gonna keep suspecting… Hell, even if he didn’t, wouldn’t he be still responsible for those deaths? He’s the one who’s been spewing shit about Akira and cleansing the world…”

“That’s a fair point.” acknowledged Kei, and Makiko nodded “We’ll be alert either way…”

“And careful.” reminded Kai “Be careful too. Don’t do anything stupid. And that goes for both of you, not just Makiko.”

“I wasn’t going to…” mumbled Makiko, frowning and looking away.

“Come on, Kai, you know I wouldn’t do anything stupid without letting you and Kaneda know first.” snarked Kei “It wouldn’t be as fun otherwise.”

“Good.” snarked Kai in return, to then soften up “But seriously, take care of yourselves…”

“You too.” replied Kei “We might have to keep an even lower profile from now on...”

Then Makiko turned back to her, and Kei promptly guessed her thoughts and gave her the phone.

“We’ll be okay, Kai, have a nice day.” she said “We love you.”

And that took him aback for a second, but then he smiled.

“…I love you too.”

And so did Kei, as she retrieved the phone.

“You never say it and that’s bad. You should feel bad.” said Makiko, to then go back to her meticulous notes on the table.

Kei believed to read a ‘Yamagata’ on a corner of one of the sheets, but that was all she could make out before Makiko covered them with her arm again.

[kee-writestrashh]

Guns for Hire

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

ao3

Summary:  You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events…

Chapter 41: Eye of the Storm

"So lemme get this straight, your father in law wants to kill his son and use the child inside of you to be groomed to his liking?" Tyene said, setting her empty glass down and giving you a hard look.

"Yes. But what's more is that Walda is pregnant apparently. If she has a boy too my son will be no better off. Just another Ramsay in Roose's eyes. All three of us will be killed." You said, throat feeling tight as you struggled to get the words out.

"Then we have to strike first." Tyene said, as if it were that simple.

"No. We can't. You don't understand. Ramsay doesn't know! Nobody knows except you. And it will stay that way. Do you understand? Tell no one." You said with a threatening snarl.

"How and why are you keeping this from Ramsay?! Friday night showed me he would love to kill his father."

You sighed, pulling your phone toward you. "That's the problem though, Ty. Rams doesn't want to kill his father. He wants his father to love him. It's sad. Roose hates him, and all Ramsay wants is for his father to approve of him. Just once to praise him. A pat on the back. And I'm afraid that's what's going to happen. Roose is going to lure him into a sense of false security and kill him once he thinks his father fucking loves him. Ramsay is like a toddler. He acts out to get a reaction from Roose, no matter how negative. Any response is better than none, right?" You unlocked your phone, thinking you better tell your mother the 'good news'.

"What are you saying?" Tyene asked, leaning back into the couch.

"I'm saying that Ramsay is unstable and vulnerable because he's fucked up in the head! Watch. Roose is going to prey on all the mental instability he has instilled into his son. I cannot let that happen! We need to strike. But I can't afford it until he makes the first move. And the most unsettling part of that is it is unpredictable. It may be tonight. It may be next week. Hell, Roose may not do shit until his newest child is born. I don't know. But I need to be ready. I need more girls in Kings establishments. Fuck the Lannister's for now. I could care less about them. We are at war within our own ranks and nobody but us know. But the Boys are not to know anything."

"Your secret dies with me. And I plan on living many, many more years." Tyene said, holding her pinky out to you.

You gave a laugh and took her pinky in yours.

"So, where are the Boys now?" She asked, standing and grabbing up her empty glass.

You too rose from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"Don't know really. On the way back here we passed that group of men from Friday night. Rams said they were Frey men. It's funny though... Kings, Lions, and the Towers. What an odd group to be dealing with one another..." You said slowly, looking back down at your phone.

[You: hey mom. Just wanted to let you know, you will be having a grandson come end of June.]

"I've only ever heard of the Frey's in passing. I don't know much about them?" Tyene said, sitting at the table as you set your phone on the counter and pulled the freezer open.

"The Boys talk shit about them. Apparently bottom of the barrel kind of folks. Inbred idiots who are only in the game because they come from old money." You glanced over at Tyene, "wanna stay for dinner?"

"Sure. If you don't mind. I'm stuck here until Matt gets back anyways." She shrugged.

You saw your phone screen light up. You picked it up:

[Mom: oh my goodness! Your father and I are both excited! I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am! We love you baby! Come see us soon.]

[You: alright momma. I'll see what I can do. I love you guys too!]

×××

"Hey good looking, whatcha got cookin'?" Ramsay purred, grabbing your hips and pulling you back into him.

You melted into him with a grin.

"Thought I'd finally make that rack of ribs." You replied, motioning at the salad you had been cutting up, "and salad. And baked potatoes."

"Right on, little momma. Everything good here?" He said, releasing you and reaching for a glass tumbler.

"Far as I know." You shrugged, gasping as something pushed you into the counter slightly.

You looked down quickly to a pair a deep brown eyes, a wet black nose, and lolling pink tongue.

You shot Ramsay a dirty, disbelieving look.

"Rams. I told you, I'm too tired to keep up with a puppy." You said, kneeling down to love all over the puppy regardless.

"You keep bitching about how boring it is here. So I solved your problem." Ramsay shrugged, pouring his whiskey into the ice filled tumbler.

You rolled your eyes, but grinned anyways, "name?"

"Don't know. Fuck Head if he pukes in the floorboard again."

"Puppy!" Tyene said excitedly, walking in the kitchen. "Look at these ears!"

"See. Someone likes puppies at least." Ramsay sneered, leaving the kitchen.

"I'm naming him!" You called after your husband.

"Then I get to name our son. Choose wisely." Ramsay called back.

You pursed your lips, turning to the sink to wash your hands.

"Think if I choose a stupid enough name for the dog Ramsay will choose a decent name for our child?"

Tyene snorted, "no. He would do anything to get under your skin."

You sighed, "you're right. But as long as my son isn't named Kylo or Anakin, or... Han Solo."

"Nah, it would be more like Bruce or Clark. Maybe Steve or... what's Iron Man's name?" Tyene laughed.

"Tony." you said, curling your lip in distaste .

"See, Anakin Bolton sounds better than Tony Bolton in my opinion."

"You are not helping." You laughed.

"I'm here to keep secrets and do dirty deeds. Not help defend you against your husband's terrible choices in names." Tyene giggled, scooping up the puppy and leaving you alone in the kitchen.

×××

Matt rested the side of his face on the table, "Can I just adopt you both so I can eat like this every day?"

"Sure. And you can move in and sleep in the spare bedroom right next to ours. You will love that. Right when you're little baby ass is so close to dreamland." Ramsay smirked.

Your cheeks warmed.

Matt snorted.

"Don't believe me, kid? I am a sex god."

Tyene caught your eye and you looked away quickly, embarrassment swallowing you as you stared at your hands in your lap.

"Boss, don't mean to interrupt your bragging, but we have a situation." Damon said, looking up from his phone. "Check your shit."

Ramsay pat himself down, casting around for his phone.

"Couch, dear." You said, frowning as the atmosphere in the room turned from cozy and happy to tense and on edge.

Ramsay left the kitchen in a hurry. You could hear him cursing in the other room.

He returned to the kitchen, lighting a cigarette and pulling his coat on.

"Let's go then, Boys. Looks like we're playing cop detail." Ramsay mumbled through his cigarette.

Matt, Damon, and Alyn rose from the table.

"Ben and Yellow Dick will meet us at the shop."

You frowned, watching the men scramble around to grab up coats and guns.

Ramsay placed a kiss to the top of your head, "I'll be back as quickly as I can. I love you."

"You boys be careful. I love you too." You said, watching them leave.

"Wonder what's going on?" Tyene asked.

"I'll ask Charlotte. Damon always had the scanner on." You said pulling your phone from your pocket.

[You: hey, what's going on? The Boys just left here in a hurry?]

"You go sit down and relax. I'll clean up the kitchen. You busted your ass to make dinner. Now it's my turn." Tyene said.

You simply nodded, realizing how tired you were. You walked into the living room, curling up under your blanket on the couch. A cold, wet nose nudging your hand tucked under the throw pillow.

You grinned, grabbing the remote and pulling the puppy up on the couch with you. He made himself as small as possible to lay with you. You dreaded how big he was going to be, judging by the size of his feet.

You flipped through TV channels. Your phone vibrated.

[Charlotte: no idea. I'm working tonight. I'll see what I can find out and let you know.]

[You: thank you! Oh, we are having a boy, btw.]

[Charlotte: awe! I'll be by tomorrow and you can tell me all about it. But give me about 20 to see if I can find out what's going on.]

You set your phone back down, scratching the puppy between the ears and closing your eyes.

After lying still for awhile you could feel the fluttering movements in your stomach.

My son. You thought with a small, sad smile, resting your hand on your belly.

"Uh... (y/n)?" Tyene's voice said from far away.

"Hm?" You hummed, opening your blearily eyes a bit

"TV."

You blinked a few times and glanced over at the TV. You must of fallen asleep as the ten o'clock news was on.

It took you a moment to realize what you were looking at. But when it hit you, you couldn't help but make a noise in your throat, sitting up straight, scaring the puppy who yelped loudly.

The police station. Burning to the ground.

"Hold on folks... we are getting reports that Robb Stark, Ned Stark's son, has just been shot... oh... And his... oh god. Excuse us while we cut to a quick break. Stay tuned for more breaking news..." The news reporter was saying, his face pale and upset, pushing the earphone further in his ear to listen better.

You glanced over at Tyene and frantically felt around for your phone.

"Take the pup out back please." You said, finally closing your fingers around your phone.

2 new texts.

[Charlotte: not 100 on what's going on, but the Boys are safe. They are there as a bumper for whatever is going on. Not directly involved.]

[Rams: do not worry.]

You frowned, looking back at the TV, wishing the stupid truck commercial would hurry up and be over so you could find out exactly what was going on.

You sat on the edge of the couch, eyes glued to the TV.

Robb Stark dead. His poor girlfriend, dead. Doctor Cat, also dead. All three murdered in cold blood. According to the sources, the poor older woman watched her son and his woman die before she was finally killed.

Would that happen to You? Would you watch your husband die before the cold metal was turned on you?

What about the other Starks? Did Sansa know? What about your little street racer? Then there were the two youngest. Both boys. You knew nothing about them.

Where the fuck was Ramsay? Did he set the blaze to the police station? Who killed the Starks?

What a very weird, unsettling day. Seemed to be setting the mood for what was to come.

[headoverhiddles]

Shot Of Glory [Richie x Eddie]

The Losers head out to Wyoming in Bill's dad's station wagon for a country festival graduation trip from high school. The crush that Richie's had on Eddie since they were kids is virtually impossible to keep inside anymore, but telling him terrifies Richie to no end- another shot of whiskey might help his courage.

Warnings: Underage drinking. Fluff! Based on the song Shot of Glory by The Washboard Union. Available on ao3 here. 

None of the Losers expected they would be spending their meticulously planned summer grad trip on the road to a country music festival. Except for Ben and Bev and Mike, who all kind of enjoyed the genre. Eddie had been the tipping vote as to whether or not they'd be spending their grad trip in Wyoming or Universal Studios (or Vegas as Richie had pitched, except what the fuck were a bunch of 17 year olds going to do in Las Vegas?). The only reason Eddie voted for the country festival was that he remembered how many germs were on everything in a park like Universal Studios, and completely squicked out at the idea of touching all those safety bars, which he would inevitably be clinging onto for dear life. They only really had enough money put together for the hotel only in Orlando anyway.

 Yeah the boys round here,

Drinkin' that ice cold beer, talkin' bout girls, talkin' bout trucks, running them red dirt roads out kickin' up dust-

"Will someone put some other shit on?" Richie called from the backseat of Bill's dad's old station wagon, "We'll have to suffer through this at the festival, no point in torturing our ears with it now!"

"Some people like this music," Mike said from the shotgun seat, turning it up, and Richie rolled his eyes, bending his knees and putting his feet up on the back of the driver's side seat.

"Where are we now Ben, Buttfuck Nowhere? You're the geography expert, aren't you?"

"History," Ben reminded for the millionth time over the past five years he had known Richie.

"Same shit, yada yada. Just tell me where you can get some decent cigarettes and a pie I can throw in Eddie's face for voting us out here instead of checking out the new Incredible Hulk ride at-"

"Beep beep Richie," Bill said, gripping the steering wheel, "And get your f-f-feet off the seat, my dad's gonna k-kill me."

"Yeah, that's so gross, so fucking unsanitary," Eddie muttered from beside him, and Richie made a face at him.

"I'm actually with Richie," Bev said slowly, "It would be nice to stop for a while, and I could use a cigarette myself."

"We'll f-find a place to pull off," Bill said, "Anyone got a m-map?"

"Yeah, it's up Eddie's mom's ass," Richie joked, and Eddie hit him, prompting Bev to sigh beside them.

"I'm hungry," Stan commented.

"Don't you have, like, a bajillion granola bars packed away in there?" Eddie asked.

"No, it was either those or the birdfeed, and how am I supposed to birdwatch without anything to attract birdfeed?"

"Well, you could just... not bird watch like a nerd?" Richie shrugged.

"Oh, well you could always take your suggestions, Richie, and jam them up your-"

"Would you l-l-losers shut up?!" Bill blurted, "Jesus Christ, we've b-been out on the road for not even a day and you two are about to k-kill each other!"

"I think we all need some air," Ben commented.

They pulled over at the next gas station they saw, and everyone pretty much ran to the bathroom.

"Hey Bev," Richie murmured as they headed into the station, "Wanna hijack the car and run off to Maui?"

"Maui?" she smirked, "I thought you wanted to go to Vegas."

"Anything's better than this flat, barren desert of nothing."

"We'll be at the festival soon." She nudged him. "Come on Tozier- do it for Eddie." She smiled at him, and Richie sucked in a breath. Do it for Eddie.

Bev, Bill and Mike were the only ones who knew about his crush on Eddie. Beverly totally had his back without being pushy about it- the other Losers were stupidly oblivious, but it was okay with Richie if his secret was kept under wraps for as long as possible.

But yeah. He could do it for Eds.

"Hi," Beverly smiled at the gas station attendant. The guy stopped chewing on his gum and looked her up and down.

"Well hey there, pretty little lady. What can I get ya?"

"Pack of Marlboro Reds and a pack of menthols."

"Hoooee!" the guy chuckled, "You're a chimney, through and through, eh?!"

"They're for her mother," Richie supplied helpfully, and Beverly blinked innocently, "She's too sick to get out of bed."

"Heaven knows why," the guy snorted, and rang them through. "Sorry for the formality, but I'm gonna need to get your ID."

"Oh, sure..." She reached for her back pocket, and threw her hands up. "Shoot, must've left it in the car. Gimme a second?"

"Alrighty."

Richie shook his head as Bev jogged out. "She's so forgetful. She's forget her head if it wasn't attached to her shoulders! Hey, while you're waiting, can you grab me another one of those I Heart Wyoming hats from the back? I'm just in love with them."

The guy shrugged, and went off to the back. As Beverly had taught him, Richie quickly stuffed the two packs in his pockets and took off... not before nabbing the display hat off the shelf. He made it to the car, tossed the Marlboros to Beverly and kept the menthols for himself.

"Go," Bev said, kissing Ben on the cheek, and Bill started the car as the guy came back.

"Hey! Hey, y'all wait!"

"You're so stupid, Richie," Stan muttered as they sped off, crossing his arms.

"I think I'm a master thief," Richie said in his British accent, and Eddie smiled a little to himself as Richie plopped the I Heart Wyoming hat on his head backward.

"For you, Spaghetti Man. Red just isn't my colour."

Eddie looked away, and when no one was looking, switched the hat around so that it was facing forward.

"Okay okay, uh... would you rather turn into Shrek every time someone said your name, or have Pee Wee Herman narrate your life?" Richie asked, and Ben burst out laughing.

"They're both so bad."

"Yeah, honestly who would pick either?" Stan asked, and Richie shrugged.

"You've gotta pick one."

"Shrek," Mike weighed in, "Definitely Shrek."

"Not P-pee Wee?" Bill smirked.

"I'd straight up murder that guy."

"If you turned into Shrek all the time, I'd break up with you," Stan pursed his lips.

"Stan, I didn't know you were so materially inclined," Bev acted shocked.

"Yeah, I'm hurt babe," Mike put a hand over his heart, and Stan shook his head.

"I am not dating an ogre."

"Wouldn't be so bad," Richie said, "You could scare people away... Eds, what would you do?"

"I'd like to have you narrating my life," Eddie huffed, "Your mouth already runs a mile a minute, might as well use it to document something useful."

"I would be honored, sir," Richie grinned, and Eddie blushed, looking away. Richie swallowed. Was he trying too hard? Fuck, he was probably giving himself away... He ran a hand through his hair, hoping his anxiety wouldn't get the better of him. Ben looked at him inquisitively, but Richie didn't quite feel like talking anymore.

The next day, after shelling out half of their crumpled up bills they had all saved for the past two years and dumping their stuff at a creepy motel that smelled like bad yogurt and moth balls, they were almost at the festival grounds. Country music was blaring through their speakers, and Bev sang along with Mike, Ben, and a shy Eddie. Even Bill found himself humming along to the tunes, and Richie and Stan discovered they were joined by their mutual hatred of this genre of music.

Soon, the first night of the festival arrived. Favourites of the group like Dierks Bentley, Luke Bryan, Chris Young, and the Zac Brown Band graced the stage, and Richie found that he was enjoying himself a little more now that he wasn't cramped up in the car and could channel his energy into something else.

Currently, the Zac Brown Band was performing a popular song of theirs, "Sweet Annie." Mike and Stan were sitting with each other on a couple of chairs to the side of the bar, giggling about something, and Ben and Beverly were out on the floor, slow dancing. Ben was singing to Bev softly, and though he didn't have the best voice ever, Beverly found everything her boyfriend did to be incredibly sweet and romantic. Her head rested on Ben's shoulder as they rocked together to the music, and she looked over to see Bill dancing with some girl he had found with blonde hair and cowboy boots. Her gaze shifted, and she saw Eddie drinking from a bottle of water, with Richie staring at him, enthralled Nd tapping his knee, a few paces away. Every time one would look at the other, the other would look away.

Beverly sighed.

That night at the motel, everyone paired up for beds. Mike and Stan, Ben and Bev, and that left... Bill, Eddie, and Richie.

"I can take the couch..." Richie said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No no," Bill smirked, the tall brunette teen giving Richie a meaningful look, "Y-you two go ahead."

"You won't even be able to fit on the couch Bill, your legs are like mile-long stringbeans!" Richie protested, feeling his face heat up.

"N-no, it's fine. The couch is closer to the w-w-window. I like to, uh... see the stars." Bill kept on smirking. 

"You sappy weirdo," Richie muttered, and Eddie headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed. In the meantime, Richie settled under the covers, taking deep breaths in and out.

He could do this. Of course he could do this! He had grown up with Eddie, ever since they had met in friggin' kindergarten! A billion sleepovers had been spent sharing a sleeping bag with Eddie, Eddie sleeping on his lap, Eddie falling asleep on his shoulder during long car rides to baseball practice, anything and everything for years... so why was it so awkward now? He took off his glasses, placing them on the night table, and rubbed his eyes.

Richie felt his heart skip a beat as the door to the bathroom opened, the crack of light illuminating the dark motel room temporarily before the light was flicked off. Eddie felt his way to the bed-- it wasn't even that small a bed, they both had plenty of space-- and got in.

"Hey Eds," Richie whispered.

"Hey Rich," Eddie whispered back, then paused. "Don't call me that."

"Sorry, spaghetti man. You enjoying the festival?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's pretty fun."

"Yeah..." Richie murmured. He didn't want to stop talking, because that would mean laying there beside each other in silence, wondering what the other person was thinking.

"Watchya thinkin' about, Eds?" Richie whispered. Eddie spent a long time thinking, so long that Richie thought he'd fallen asleep. Then he spoke up.

"How happy I am to be on this trip, Rich."

"Really?"

"Mhmm. It's nice to be away from home for a while... it's refreshing not to have someone watching me all day every day, seeing if I'm just gonna fall apart in front of their eyes." Another pause. "I'm not that fragile, you know?"

"Yeah," Richie offered, not able to think of anything else to say. His home life was the opposite of Eddie's and both boys knew it. Richie's parents didn't care about anything he did, sort of like Bill's, Ben's, and... well, pretty much any of them except for Eddie. But Richie's parents not only didn't care, but frequently made it clear how happy they'd be once he got his "freak little ass out of their house where he can go bother someone else." That's one thing Richie didn't keep from his friends... he didn't know where he'd be if he couldn't share that.

"Rich? You awake?"

"Yeah, Eds."

"S-s-shut up!" Bill called, "If you two don't m-mind, some of us want some sleep!"

"Yeah, keep it down Felix and Oscar," Mike joked. A few more seconds ticked by.

"I sure hope these sheets are cleaned really fucking well daily," Eddie whispered as quietly as he could to Richie, "I'm wearing my favourite red shorties."

Richie squeezed his eyes shut.

Fuck.

The next night of the festival was the perfect night. Starry sky, stage lit up by the moon, it was gorgeous. A couple of songs in, and Richie was getting the jitters all over again. Being this close to Eddie for such a long time was exhilarating, but for some reason, nerve wracking. He had known his friend their entire lives... what was his deal? 

He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

The Washboard Union took the stage, and began to play a few of their songs, before they started up a song called "Shot

Of Glory." Beverly's eyes lit up, and she dragged everyone to the floor except for Richie, who headed over to the bar. Shots? Good plan.

Praise be, Richie wasn't carded, as his hair fell into his eyes and he had aged fast with his high cheekbones and growth spurt after hitting 15, so he ordered a "beer" at first.

"What kind of beer?"

"A boilermaker."

"That's... not a beer."

"It's a drink, though. Pip pip, and tally ho good fellow!" he clapped. The guy just gave him the evil eye, but went to get the drink ready.

Boy shit, a boilermaker was not what Richie was expecting, and halfway through the song, he was well on his way to getting tanked. Looking over at his small little Eddie attempting to dance as gracefully as Beverly, Richie's heart ached, and he admired his best friend. He looked so good tonight, in those high socks, shorts, and pink shirt riding up the barely noticeable V of his hips and light snail trail... Eddie looked up, going red at the fact that Richie was watching him fail at dancing, and Richie's heart stopped as Eddie's brown eyes met his. The alcohol wasn't the only thing making him weak.

It's a Friday night, like any other, you walk in I stare and I stutter, every single time you look at me.

Richie wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and finished off the last of the boilermaker. Eddie looked so good... he needed to lie down... but also, he needed to dance. What was that word, dance? Hmm... thinking is a strange thing. Fuzzy, fuzzy, music sounds good, huh... why hadn't Eddie or any of those other losers introduced him to country music sooner? Eddie, Eddie, Eddie Spaghetti. He was beautiful, and silence was not something Richie was good at.

"Good sir! Beer me a whiskey," Richie slurred, trying not to sound like the inexperienced, lightweight of a 17 year old that he was. The bartender eyed him warily, but grabbed a bottle as Richie's fingers drummed nervously on the bar, leg jostling restlessly.

I need a fix of True Companion, Jimmy Beam, or Old Jack Daniels, something strong to stop these shaking knees.

"Eddie!" Richie called, walking out onto the dance floor.

Drinking up my courage, whiskey for my nerves

Eddie lifted his chin, and Richie's head spun.

Got me drunk on your short summer dress, powder room ballerina, I'm gonna need another shot of glory, ain't no turning back...

"Hi Richie. Enjoying your, um... whiskey, I think?"

"No," Richie made a face, spitting it out, and Eddie stifled a giggle, trying to hold him up.

"You're an idiot when you're drunk, you know that?"

"I think Stan would agree with you," Richie replied.

"I think everyone would agree with me," Eddie retorted, smiling, and Richie physically gasped.

You got me high on your tipsy smile and your hips all swingin'

"Dance with me, Eds," Richie blurted, and Eddie's eyes widened as Richie began to dip him. He soon fell into the groove of the song, and the world spun around them. 

We start spinnin', spinnin', spinnin'

Stumbling away in a moment of sobriety, the taller teenager blushed hard and pushed up his glasses, looking around.

"Where's... uh, Bill?"

"I think he's still with that blonde cowgirl chick he was with earlier," Eddie mused, and turned to peer behind him. He noticed a blue pickup truck, and Bill and the girl making out inside of it. "Oh yup. Definitely is."

They stood there for a second, looking slightly out of place on the dance floor.

"How many of these "whiskeys" did you have?" Eddie asked.

"Oh... enough."

"Maybe you should get to bed-"

"Eddie Kaspbrack?" Richie stood up straight as best he could, and felt everything good swirl around him- the laughter, the lively music, the dancing, the smiles of his closest friends as they had the time of their lives. He felt the confidence surge through him. "You... y'know something?"

"What?"

"Eddie Kaspbrack, I've loved you since the day we met."

Eddie stopped, lips parting. Richie felt some part of his brain flashing off, telling him to retreat, back to the motel maybe, the grand canyon possibly on the other side of America to fling himself into, anywhere, just to run, but the other part kept him rooted there.

"Richie..." Eddie said softly, looking down. Richie braced himself for the rejection by closing his eyes, but he almost flipped his shit when he felt two smaller hands on the sides of his face, cupping it as soft lips met his. Sudden gasps resounded from their friends, and Richie opened his eyes to see a (blurry) Eddie grinning up at him.

"You're a dumbass and I love you too," he said, and Richie let out a cry of victory, pumping his fist up. This resulted in a huge group hug, with Richie probably kissing Eddie in the middle of it again, and the band played the last note of the song. Richie broke free, grabbed his glass of whiskey again and took a sip, then got on stage, taking the mic from them.

"I'd like to thank the Washboard Union and the State of Wyoming!" Richie called, raising his glass, and toppled off the stage with a crash.

"Fucking hell," Eddie muttered.

"Hey... is anyone gonna pay this kid's tab?" the bartender called out in irritation. Beverly looked over, and bit her lip, kissing Ben and whispering something to him. Then she approached the bar with a charming smile, and leaned against it.

"Hey there. Has anyone ever told you you look just like Clark Kent?"

[transientwordsmith]

Too Close for Comfort?

(Tw: language) Prompt: “There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close” I changed it to be from the reverse perspective (lol whoops talk about not reading) but if y’all (who am I talking to there are like 3 of you) want it from the other perspective I can write that part. About 1600 words. Characters: James Chance, Logan Cole, Mark Garrett, Kira Garrett, Claire Richards, Isabel Kennedy, Scott Hayes.

They were out on a mission tonight. Objective: bust a huge drug deal without getting caught by anyone, and taking down the offenders. Easier said than done.

James ran down an alley nearby where they were supposed to be ambushing. Logan had the one right next to his. The building where the deal was happening was in the middle. On the other side was Mark, and then another alley over was Scott. On top of the building was Isabel. They were all in position and were listening to Claire and Kira on their comms.

“Lookit all those crackheads…” Mark mused into the comms. Scott snickered. James saw them, though. Two were coming from the front, one from the side he was on, and another from the back. There were probably more that he couldn’t see.

“About 20, I think,” Kira responded.

“Knowing would be better than thinking,” Isabel said.

There was a moment of silence. Then Kira spoke again. “Sorry, there are 21 expected to arrive by 11. It’s 10:57, so they still have three minutes. I was just checking. I didn’t want to tell you anything for sure than what’s correct.”

James smiled. She was always going back and correcting herself, whether out of spite or self-deprecation.

“It’s okay to be a bit off,” James told her.

“But not ideal,” Claire cut in. “There are 3 dealers and 18 buyers, according to our intel.”

“Who cares about ideal…” James trailed off, glancing at his watch. It was 10:59. A minute to go.

“The mission cares about ideal, James.” Isabel chastised his careless tone.

“Yeah, but it’s impossible to be perfect all the time. Everyone makes mistakes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t make mistakes.”

Isabel was silent. James glanced down at his watch again. 10:59. Everyone held their breath and counted down.

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

Go time.

“Logan, Mark, go to your second position,” Claire instructed. James saw Logan come out of the alley and run towards the warehouse. He stopped when he got there and gave Mark a boost onto the fire escape. They both climbed up to the second floor and climbed through the window. James hoped he could listen to Logan talk without imagining something he shouldn’t

There were a few moments of silence. Then, there was a beep in the comm letting James know a new channel had been opened.

“Audio feed of what’s going on inside is on channel 2, thanks to Mark,” Kira informed. James switched channels for a moment.

“Which one of you motherfuckers is a snitch?” James heard a gruff voice.

“I’ll bet you never heard ‘snitches get stitches’? Or ‘snitches are bitches’?” Another voice said

“Who end up in ditches,” A third voice added with a chuckle.

“Don’t you laugh.” The first voice said. “This whole damn place is surrounded. Y’all don’t think we’re getting out with fucking anything tonight, do ya?”

“I should hope not,” Logan’s voice came strong and cold. James could see it in his mind’s eye. A crowd of men (and probably women too) all turning to look at Logan and Mark.

A few scoffs could be heard.

“You and that kid’re gonna stop us?” The first voice said. A pause.

“Hopefully, yes. We don’t want a violent fight, so it’d be better if we could negotiate. We both know we don’t want the police here, for starters.”

“Y’all ain’t the police?”

“Fuck the police,” Mark said not-so-under his breath. There were a few snickers. James could imagine Mark was going to get a talking to about his choice words, but it was a part of the plan. They were supposed to emphasize their distaste with the police.

“No, we aren’t,” Logan told him.

“Okay,” The first voice said. “Say we don’t wanna hand our shit over. Then what?”

“That’s when it gets dirty. We don’t want that unless you do.” There was the sound of Logan dropping down to the first floor. Mark followed suit.

“I think we’d all appreciate it if you made this easy.”

“Hold it a minute,” The third voice said. “What’s the kid got to say? I’m sure you didn’t drag him into this, right?”

There was silence. Everyone was nervous. Mark wouldn’t botch the mission on purpose, of course, but what he did by accident was out of their control. A very quiet “Garrett?” was heard from Logan before Mark spoke.

“I don’t really have anything to say. I don’t think what you’re doing is right, and that’s why I…we’re here. We’re better than the police, and y’all know that.” Mark said. There was an almost-silent sound. That sound was the sound of a hand on a weapon. The tension in the air thickened.

“But, I won’t tell you that you can escape the law completely if you go with what we ask.” Mark continued. He spoke slowly, so Mark assumed that Kira or Claire was feeding him information as he spoke. “We’ll only take those of you who have drugs on you right now if you make this easy. If you decide to make this difficult, we’ll try and get all of you, and the consequences will be much worse.”

“Thanks, kiddie.” The second voice said. There was a sound like a clap on the shoulder. Mark inhaled sharply. “But I don’t think we’re just going to hand you our shit.”

James switched back to the main comm channel. The first sound he heard was multiple people breathing heavily.

“Get ready, everyone. It’s about to be the bad kind of ‘go time’,” Kira warned.

There was a gunshot, and then about a dozen figures started running in James’ general direction. He saw a few running parallel to his alley get caught by Isabel, who was standing on the building.

James started running towards the warehouse. He tightened his grip on his gun. It wasn’t a killing gun, but it would paralyze you for a good long while. James was very confused when he almost fell over. Someone had grabbed his wrist. They pulled him close and changed their grip to his collar area. The someone turned out to be Logan. And they were now less than a foot apart from each other.

“What the hell?” James asked. Logan slapped a hand over his mouth and shushed him. He motioned with his head down the alley, where James was sure there were more people with guns. Guns that kill you, not just paralyze.

“Okay guys, Isabel is pretty sure she got the dealers, so you guys can go ahead and leave the area when it’s safe and we’ll pick you guys up at the rendezvous point,” Claire said. The comm turned on and then off like someone was about to speak but thought better of it. James was willing to bet it was Kira.

James focused his attention back on the task at hand. He was chest to chest with Logan, and there were people with guns. James had thought about what it would be like to be chest to chest with Logan, but not like this. He thought it would be in a more…romantic setting.

“Jesus, you’re close,” James breathed. He looked down the alley and saw two figures standing. He figured that they didn’t have anything, so getting them to run was better than having them stay.

James fired a shot at the wall behind him. He felt Logan give a start and make a noise of surprise. The two figures ran, and they were alone.

They were both breathing hard, and neither wanted to move. Logan was the first to speak.

“What the hell was that for? You could have gotten us killed!” Logan said exasperatedly.

“But I didn’t!” James countered. “And, I scared them off, didn’t I?”

They fell into silence again. Neither had moved. They were still inches apart. Just a few inches.

“Yeah, you did,” Logan said incredulously.

“I hope the others are okay,” James mused to fill the silence he knew was about to ensue.

“They probably are. We would have heard if they weren’t.” They fell into an awkward silence anyway. They stared at each other. If only Logan knew how much James wanted to–

It was as quick as snapping your fingers. James never pegged Logan as the type to be forward, but he was still the one who closed the distance. Logan’s lips on James’. They shifted to embrace each other and stayed in an embrace for what felt like forever. This is what James had been too scared to do, for fear of rejection. God, he felt so stupid not having done it sooner. It felt so good to finally be kissing Logan and to know that his feelings were returned.

James hadn’t realized he had tuned out the comms until he heard, “Go and check on Logan and James. They’re all gone, so I don’t know why they’re not back.” James didn’t register what had been said, so he didn’t move.

“Oh. Hey there,” Mark said, announcing his presence. James and Logan turned to look at him and scrambled to get away from each other.

“Mark! Hey,” Logan spoke first. “Great job back there.”

“Yeah, good job, chico. I was listening.” James added. Mark nodded his thanks.

“We should be getting back. Scott and Isabel are waiting.” Mark reminded them.

“Right. Yeah,” James said.

Despite not wanting anyone to know just yet about the little thing they had, James and Logan still held hands until they reached the rendezvous point.

[traveling-madness]

everything for shi(t)p(ost) :)

 @lyesander you asked on anon and then openly told me it was you come forward. Anyway this is under the cut because it got. Really long.

- How do they fall asleep? Wake up? Any daily rituals?a. You know how kittens pile on top of each other? Usually they sleep like that. b. Clara wakes up at 5am in the morning, Craig does…not do that, She makes breakfast goes for a run showers and is usually gone for work before he’s even halfway awake and on one hand he hates that but on the other being awake before 7 is too haaarrrd. c. She also leaves him notes every morning but usually the note asks him to do at least one thing and that’s so much work :(.

- How’s their team work? Do they share well?a. Depends on what the teamwork is for. b. Sharing love? Yea. Sharing blankets/the tv/ Clara’s attention? Craig.exe has stopped.

- Are they open about their relationship? How do they feel about public displays of affection?a. Clara at everyone she knows: “This is my boyfriend and I love him.” Craig at everyone he doesn’t know, strangers, baristas, waiters, gas station employees: “This is my girlfriend she loves me.” b. They aren’t gross teens making out in public but they are holding hands or her arm is around him or he is sprawled across her lap in a booth at Burger King.

- First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?a. He called her sexually frustrated and she punched him in the fucking face. b. It was Not.

- Nicknames? Pet names? Any in-jokes?Clara calls him shitlord and their in-jokes are strangely specific memelike phrases and things like Clara still having a plastic poop emoji from Mcdonalds glued to her dashboard.

- Any tasks that are always left to one person?Clara has taken full responsibility for loading the dishwasher and taking out the trash. Craig is in charge of making dinner at LEAST once a week and unloading the dishwasher after it’s done. They switch off on everything else by which I mean Clara does most of it.

- What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?a. Clara’s least favorite thing about Craig is he doesn’t do jack shit and she is significantly worried about his lack of motivation. Craig’s least favorite thing about Clara is that she smells like wet dog but other than that she loves him and so she must not have any flaws. b. They’d both change these things, Clara for Craig’s own good and Craig also for his own good.

- What do they like best about their partner?‘Willing to date me’ is pretty high on both of their lists. On a more lighthearted note they have a lot of similar interests, they’re good at bouncing humor off each other, and they can both provide the amount of affection the other one needs (which is… a lot).

- Do they discuss big issues? Religion? Marriage? Children? Death?Mmmm kind’ve? Religion isn’t hugely important to either of them. It’s pretty clear that they want to get married at some point but It only came up once when Clara was on pain killers. Clara can’t have kids and that’s fine neither of them have an interest in parenting. Death, no, they don’t talk about that because thinking about it is terrible.

- Who drives? Cooks? Does the handiwork? Cleans? Pays the bills? Handles the public?a. Clara. b. Both of them but Craig more often because he does not have a fucking job. c. Depends on the job; Clara fixes what she knows how to and Craig is tasked with figuring out the rest, which he can do, he just doesn’t want to. d. Almost exclusively Clara. e. Clara. f. Both of them but Craig is actually better at it when he wants to be.

- Do they celebrate holidays? Anniversaries?Yes, to both. A lot of holidays are spent at Sketch’s company parties, (or more accurately his mom’s company parties.) They haven’t actually had their first anniversary yet but that’s coming up and will probably be cute as shit.

- Is there a wedding? What was the proposal like? Any kind of honeymoon?There hasn’t been yet but like let’s be honest it’s a solid ‘probably.’ Not anytime imminently soon though.

- What do they do for fun? Do they have a favorite activity or do they like to switch things up?Video games and movie nights are probably the most common. Mostly because they cost the least amount of money and take the least amount of effort. Sometimes they get crazy and go to an arcade or go bowling. Or to the Y across town because swimming is one of the few things that involve physical activity that Craig actually likes doing and Clara will capitalize on that as much as possible.

- Anything they both dread?The other one dying/disappearing, which sounds obvious but sometimes it gets to the point where Clara is overwhelmingly paranoid about leaving the room for a few minutes because what if he gets sucked back into his own dimension and she never sees him again?? That and part of Craig has flat out convinced himself that that Clara is a godsend and he couldn’t survive life without her. (He could but try convincing him that his worth isn’t dependent on people loving him)

- How adventurous are they?Their most adventurous moment so far was exploring an old abandoned military fort in the town Clara used to live in.

- Do they keep secrets? Lie? Cheat? Secrets/lies like Craig sometimes still skims her diary or Clara blaming farts on the dog. Or when Craig says he ‘forgot’ to do what ever chore he was supposed to do that day when in reality he just made a conscious choice not to do it. Or when Clara doesn’t tell him she’s disappointed that he’s not doing anything with his time because she doesn’t want to sound like rev!Clara. Neither of them would cheat on the other one though. Ever. 

- What would make them break up? Would it be permanent?a. Craig doing something to ruin her career so she wouldn’t have any reason to leave his side for more than an hour at a time ever. b. in a healthy world yea but it wouldn’t actually be because a week later she’d be like “oh no you’re still crying… I don’t forgive you but you are sad so I’ll pretend it doesn’t matter : (”

- What are their dates like? How long do/did they date? Do they ever feel the need to take a break from each other?a. When they do go out it’s pretty eclectic; anything from going to an arcade to setting up a candle lit dinner… in a burger king. b. They’ve been dating since last May and that’s not going to change any time soon c. No. Never. At all. It’s probably kinda unhealthy.

- What do they fight about? What are their arguments like? How do they make up?a. Craig doing something stupid. Clara saying something sarcastically that sounds a little too close to rev!Clara’s go-to drags. Craig not having a job vs. Clara putting in way too much time that she doesn’t have to a her job. b. Clara is almost always the one to actually address the problem, and puts a lot of planning into how she phrases the conversation. Craig is… capable of having those conversations, but his go to approach is more along the lines of vying for pity based attention because he knows if she feels bad for him she won’t actively be angry, he’s not even always conscious of doing it, and it’s usually on impulse. This is starting to improve, and Clara’s gotten much better at recognizing and addressing it. Unlearning toxic shit takes time but she’s still gonna call him out on it. c. Parroting ‘I-love-you’s back and forth while sometimes crying. Usually a good few hours chilling on the couch watching movies. Whoever was wronged picks the movie and whoever fucked up makes dinner- that’s not a rule it’s more of an unspoken agreement. 

- What does their home look like? Their room?Bad. Not the actual apartment like it’s a pretty nice apartment they’re just both shitty at cleaning. See also:Mads-02/28/2018 he lives in a house full of dog fur and grease stains lye-02/28/2018 doesn’t mean he likes it but he’s also too lazy to clean it himself so it’ll be likeclara: (comes home from work)craig: your house is grossclara: then clean it you slut.

- Do they share any interests or hobbies?Vidya game. They’re both roller coaster fanatics also. Those are the biggest things that they both really like independently but also when you spend enough time with someone you love some of the things they like will start to remind you of them to the point you like them vicariously. The best example I can give is Clara used to hate the fucking Hallmark channel in all it’s heteronormative glory but now she actually enjoys like at least three of the movies. Maybe four.

- Does their work ever interfere with the relationship?Craig’s LACK of work does, it’s something Clara is really, REALLY frustrated over and she’s still a little unsure how to convey that without it coming off guilt tripping. At the same time Clara works overtime much more often than Craig would like, which is to say more than once or twice a month. He’s not any better at addressing this than she is though, he tends to do shit like pretend to be sick or actually make himself sick (the latter only once at least) so she’ll stay home.

- How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?Hugs have a 60 second absolute minimum in this household. Kisses have a two second record minimum but it’s usually at least 5. They are absolute dicks to each other but 99.9% of the time it’s fully communicated to be just that. Teasing. Flirting is terrible romantic gestures are go big or go home. Unless you count Clara making the WORST romance puns and Craig holding up his phone sometimes with ‘love my gf’ memes and going “that’s us babe!” or the one time he tried to lay seductively across the table when Clara got home and her immediate response is “So I guess we’re ordering take out again?” Comforting is either ‘I will hold you for 17 hours non-stop’, ‘you like food right? I’ll make some food’, or both.

- Any doubts about the relationship?Not that they don’t tune out and bury as deep down as possible!

- How much time do they spend together? Do they share their feelings, or hold things in?a. As Much As Possible. Another thing that’s not entirely healthy. b. They share most feelings, until it’s something negative and significant about the other, then they aren’t so good at it. Working on it, but not good at it.

- How do their friends feel about their relationship? Their families?Craig was the one who told Sketch at least because Clara genuinely could not figure out how. I’m assuming the question means like, mutual friends. Clara’s family is touch and go, not too big on Once-lers in general. Her mom likes Craig a lot though and her dad tolerates him which is saying something. Craig’s family doesn’t exist in this universe. 

- Do they have kids? Grow old together? Split up?¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Well actually I can say for certain they don’t have kids. Clara physically can’t have kids, or at least not safely, and more importantly can you imagine either of these fucking losers trying to parent anything? Terrifying.

- What are their vacations like?The closest thing to a vacation they’ve gone on is driving like 2 hours to Rhode Island/Connecticut once and then another 2 hours to Vermont for Thanksgiving.

- How do the handle disasters or emergencies? Minor injuries? Sickness?Bad. Mostly because if and when anything bad happens to one of them, the other subsequently flips shit. Clara is a little better at flipping shit INTERNALLY, but don’t let her fool you she is very stressed over her boyfriend coming down with the common cold and yes she DOES need to go home over her lunch break to check on him and NO she is not babying him what the fuck are you talking about.

- Could they manage a long distance relationship?They would INSIST that they can, and maybe they could for a few weeks, but after that things would go pretty bad pretty fast.

- Do they finish each other’s sentences? Pick up any phrases or habits from each other? Know when the other is hiding something?a.They are the couple that would attempt to finish each other’s sentences but fail horribly. Like, really badly, like, inserting words that don’t even make sense badly. “We finish each others-” ��Chores, so you’ll clean the kitchen so I can go watch Pretty Woman while it’s on Starz? Thanks!”  “No!”b. Ok so Craig is from Texas, very rural tiny ass town in Texas, and unlike Sketch he has done next to nothing to not SOUND like someone from a very rural tiny ass Texas town. After living with him for several months Clara now says y’all’d’ve, y’all’d’n’t’ve, I’d’n’t’ve, and both ain’t and y’ain’t entirely unironically. She very rarely realizes this is happening. c. Clara knows because she’s good at reading people, Craig knows because he’s good at still occasionally reading her diary and just not telling her.

- Do they ever get into trouble? Is it serious, or are they just mischievous?They have had to climb a fence and bail halfway through a game of paintball because Craig shot a kids father who was NOT in the game.

- What kind of presents do they get each other? Do they only do it on special occasions?Craig goes with chocolate because that’s yet to fail, that and just, money he talks Sketch into giving him. Sketch has a habit of giving Clara money and she won’t accept it from him without a fight so at this point he’s reached a state of “I’ll give it to you IF you give it to Clara/put it towards food/rent.”Clara spoils the SHIT out of Craig now that she has a steady job and income. She has gotten him, so far, A Nintendo Switch, an Xbox 1s, and a fucking PS4. Now it should be noted that she also has unlimited access to all of these and tends to beat him at most games played on them, so the selflessness of buying them is debatable.

- Do they have any pets?Sticks!!! But he’s really just Clara’s dog that Craig lives with because being provided with love and affection from Clara is worth being allergic to her dog apparently.

- Do they bring out the best in each other, or the worst? Do they have a fatal flaw?It’s tough to say whether it’s their BEST qualities, but overall they bring out more good in each other than bad. I’m not sure about a fatal flaw but a pretty big one is just, not addressing negative emotions around any aspect of their relationship enough out of fear of losing each other. They aren’t the picture of a perfect relationship by any means either, Clara has an obsession with feeling needed and depended on, and because of this is a massive enabler who pretty much does everything for him. Including things he can very easily do himself. Craig, who doesn’t want to do jack shit and constantly needs to be loved and validated, is very ok with this.

- What’s their greatest strength as a couple? Their weakness?This sounds really disgustingly cheesy but listen they are very in love. Like frighteningly dedicated to one another in love. This is a double edged sword. 

- How much would they be willing to sacrifice for the other? Any lines they refuse to cross?They would deadass take a bullet for each other they are Ride Or Die™ let’s be real.

- What are they like in the bedroom? Any kinks/fetishes/turn-ons? Anything they won’t do?a. Uhhh synopsis; Craig’s a sex positive ace and Clara was a virgin until age 26. They are,, I think my most vanilla ship actually? If that says anything lmao. Other than Craig crying after sex on occasion. Lots of eye contact and being as close to each other as possible, less sex more ‘cuddling but with orgasms’. b. Craig has a fucking praise kink and Clara just so happens to never shut up when it comes to giving said praise so jot that down. c. Refer to a, there’s a shit ton of stuff they won’t do I’m too lazy to list all of it.  Listen anyone who actually cares can send asks to my nsfw blog because like. I know the answers. It’s probably sad how many answers I’m equipped to give here.

- Who initiated the relationship? Who kissed who first?  When did they realize they we’re in love?a/b. That’d be Craig who kicked off the relations hip with the class act of asking “hey wanna make out?” c. That’s not something that happens all at once, for anyone really. It’s a slow realization of ‘oh fuck I’m in love I guess.’

- Any special memories? Do they have a special place they like to go to?Define special because the most prominent memories are of shit like jumping the fence at the paintball place or the time Craig pretended to drown. Also the first time Clara said “I love you” then immediately buried it in a mouthful of spaghetti. 

- Are they party-goers? What are they like when they’re drunk? Does it happen often?Nah, other than like, holiday company parties they get invited to. Clara doesn’t drink at all anymore, or at least not without strong supervision, and she definitely doesn’t get drunk anymore. Craig’s just not crazy about alcohol in general, unless it’s got a gallon of sugar it doesn’t even taste good. 

- Do they let each other get away with things that would normally bother them?Constantly. There’s some stuff that Clara will draw the line on, and that’s usually when it’s a manipulative situation. But we all know that Craig will put up with just about any shit if it means validation and attention. THIS Clara doesn’t give him too much shit to put up with though, she just kinda smells like wet dog.

- Do they talk often? What about?Yea but not always about things the need to. They talk about their days or plans for the next week or how they’re doing in general, and they will delve into some levels of sharing insecurities but like I said there’s definitely some things they should talk about but haven’t.

- Are the comfortable with each other? Anything they have to have their privacy for?Maybe there was some need for privacy for the first month of living together but honestly at this point “Clara I ate half a pint of ice-cream and on a very related note we are out of toilet paper” is just commonplace conversation. They will hang out for an entire day sitting on the couch eating corn chips wearing each others sweatpants like it’s safe to say they’re comfortable.

- Any special dreams or goals they have as a couple? Any heartbreaks? Regrets?They both wanna marry each other like a lot, like I’m surprised it hasn’t come up more because let’s be honest it’s harder to leave someone when you have to go through a bunch of legal paperwork-. I think the most heartbreaking thing is that all of Craig’s family and friends live in an alternate plane of reality that it seems like there’s no way of getting back to, and if there WAS a way of getting back that would mean choosing between his home and his Clara, who is much better than the Clara back home. There’s some regrets in the making with the whole Clara not sitting down and telling Craig he NEEDS to get a fucking job. 

[doomedandstoned]

The Doom Doc Traces Metal’s Heaviest Genre To Its Roots

~Review by Shawn Gibson, with Billy Goate~

The story of doom begins two generations ago in the UK with a band called Black Sabbath. An important new film, titled The Doom Doc, seeks to connect the dots from those early days to the present, just one city away from Ozzy, Tony, Geezer, and Bill’s Birmingham roots. Directed by Connor Matheson, the Sheffield documentary was released the same year as Black Sabbath played their last.

DOOM /do͞om/

noun

      death, destruction, or some other terrible fate

verb

      condemn to certain death or destruction

The Doom Doc made its timely appearance in 2017; the year Birmingham legends Black Sabbath decided this was (really) The End. Roughly an hour-and-a-half north, we’re met by the hustle and bustle of Sheffield, England. Traffic is awash in a glowing red hue. Pedestrians going to and fro in crowded movements reminiscent of a group of ants.

Sheffield is home of Def Leppard, Human League, and Pulp for the mainstream. For the underground, it’s home to Kurokuma, Regulus, Ba'al, ARAE, and a steady swell of others who are making sure the UK doom scene stays on the map right where Black Sabbath left it.

We hear the voice of Craig Bagshaw, who lives in Sheffield and also fronts Holy Spider Promotions. He tells a tale of going to a party and one of his mates answering the door with a screwdriver in hand and a wild look in his eyes. Upon entry, Craig's friend tells him that he's got some MDMA and he's already toasted. There is an argument about quality of said MDMA. Craig's friend then takes his belt off and starts whipping his mate’s asses as if he was their dad! He screams some twisted gibberish about the Holy Order of the Spider.

Most everyone reading this understands how DIY metal is and even more so with doom and sludge. Jack Newnham of Slabdragger argues, "You’ve just got to make your own scene. You've got to make it happen! If you don't, there isn't a scene." Not surprisingly, heavy music for these folks has become a lifestyle. "It goes beyond hobby to a lifestyle," insists Slabdragger’s Sam Thredder.

Doom may mean different things to different people, but to George Ionita of Kurokuma and ARAE, "Doom’s like fucking apocalypse! It's like when it rains down on you, like when it's so heavy...When we come out with a heavy riff, we'll take off our plugs and stuff and just fucking mosh. That's what doom is! It's the pleasure inside, when I close my eyes playing the song and I see visuals.” George has an example in mind for us, too. “We've got this song about a fucking volcano. I close my eyes and I think about the volcano. I see the volcano overflowing, exploding. It's boss! It's all I've got to say."

Bandmate Joe E. Allen chimes in: “You don't go to doom-sludge shows to hear nice melodies and to hear someone singing nice songs. You go because you want feel like something heavy hitting you in the chest and that's the kind of shows we put on with Holy Spider. We don't want something that feels like a normal metal gig. We want to do something that feels like you’re on some other plane of existence. It's just mashed together into this experience of really loud, really. Really extreme heavy, affecting music."

Sheffield-based writer Rachel Genn serves as narrator of The Doom Doc, tracing doom metal all the way back to the almighty Black Sabbath.   Sabbath changed everything and influenced everybody. They’re the first band to tune down, she recounts, because Tony Iommi had to in an attempt to play guitar after an unfortunate industrial accident clipped several of his fingertips. The incident is recounted in Tony’s own memoir, Iron Man: My Journey Through Heaven and Hell with Black Sabbath (2011).

"That started the whole thing," affirms drummer Vinny Appice of Black Sabbath, Dio, and Heavy & Hell fame. "Tony plays in the pocket, playing these chords. You wanna hear doomy chords? Just let Tony riff for a little bit. It's amazing! That's why we call him Mr. Riff -- The Riff Doctor!"

"Yeah it's all about Sabbath really, isn't it, to be honest?” turning back to Slabdragger’s Sam. “Like, they just smoke weed all the time -- so did all the bands in the ‘60's -- and they make the music we pretty much make."

Rachel sums it up nicely for us all: "Doom metal is a subgenre of metal and involves very slow tempos, extremely loud volumes, repetitive, sometimes psychedelic, riffs, and long compositions. Lyrics dealing with evil negativity, spirituality or fantasy. It’s the musical equivalent of wading through black treacle."

I’ve not had an experience with black treacle, but it sounds tantalizing.

"I think like one of the main things with like the Conan guitar sound is, in general, that the fact that the guitar is tuned to drop F, which is totally, ridiculously low,” Says Chris Fielding of Conan and Skyhammer Studio with a chuckle.

Breaking down doom even further, the documentary tells us where the subgenres of sludge metal and stoner rock fit into the equation. "Sludge is like a wilder, greased-up version of doom,” we’re told. “It was Melvins from Washington who first begun the sound." The Seattle band, of course, famous for its punked-up doom tendencies. Other bands like as Eyehategod, Sourvein, Thou, and Crowbar would go on to define the genre even more distinctively.

Speaking of which, the great Kirk Windstein now makes an entrance to tells us about the sludgey roots of the venerated NOLA band Crowbar. "We had come from thrash backgrounds and all that kind of shit. We were like, We just want to do something completely different. We're burned out on it. We kinda just did the opposite of what everybody else was doing. Everybody else was tuned to E standard, playing 1000 miles an hour [so we] tuned it down to fucking B and drop A, playing super slow. We felt it made it a lot heavier.”

It appears that Kirk has been caught up in the Spirit at this moment in the interview, as he then exclaims: “God it's so fucking heavy! There's no way to describe it. I love heavy music!"

Cheers to Kirk Windstein and his earth-shakingly heavy riffs.

In the '90s there was another scene that must be mentioned to understand the evolution of doom metal. Several states down from Washington, another important development in heavy music was taking place in the much sunnier terrain of the southwest. Most famously, bands like Kyuss and Fu Manchu dabbled in fuzzy, tuned-down rock ‘n’ roll, which we simply call stoner rock. Stoner bands began appearing not only in California, Arizona, and Texas, but all around the freaking world.

Rob Graham of the Sheffield-based Wet Nuns and Drenge mentions being a little irked by the term stoner rock. “I think it's sad when any form of expression becomes just about the drugs that the people are into,” he says, while also noting: “It's pretty cool to smoke weed and listen to heavy music.” A better word to focus on? Blues. “To begin with we were sorta just a blues band. Like we were this thrashy kinda garage blues band. Bored, creative people that wanted to really [make] fuckingly stupid loud music.”

As the conversation goes along, we stumble upon a familiar theme: “Somewhere along the way we stumbled across this like kinda thing heavy, so heavy!” Rob says, notably enthused. “That's what we're about we were trying to be as heavy as we could be. It's like trying to run in a swimming pool! It's like being stuck in a tar pit and melting. That's what it conjures to me, anyway."

Anyone up for little skinny dip in a lake of treacle?

While “stoner” may be used in a derogatory sense, there’s no denying that marijuana has been a huge influence for doom metal and stoner rock bands alike, leading to the advent of stoner-doom. If Black Sabbath started doom’s love affair with their ‘71 single “Sweet Leaf,” bands like Electric Wizard and Sleep (with their monumental opus, Dopesmoker) forever married Mary Jane to The Riff. Others, such as Weedeater, Weedpecker, Bongzilla, BelzebonG, Dopelord, Dopethrone, have become important mile markers for the scene.

"Yeah the two seem to go hand in hand," says Kez Whelan of Terrorizer Magazine and Nottingham doom-grind act Shrykull. “Even though it's associated, that sweet leaf is the influence it isn't for everybody in the doom scene.”

Not everyone is down with the dope, however. Craig and Joe’s counterpart in Holy Spider Promotions, Terry Larkin, is introduced to us next. A UK doom fan, he is quite; a marijuana fan, not so much. "I was never really into the whole listening to music and smoking weed. It doesn't affect me nicely at all!” He does seem to contend that we can get high on the music composed by a musician under the influence. “They can actually channel it into the music effectively giving the listener that same feeling, too." Music makes you high? That’s a thesis we can get behind.

Kirk Windstein returns, because you know he has stories to tell from all those years hanging with Phil Anselmo, Pepper Keenan, Jimmy Bower, and the rest. "A lot of the guys did smoke weed,” he recalls, “so we were very creative sitting in a circle together with a good buzz, you know, coming up with shit that ended up being great. Down was much more of a collaboration and a jam session type thing. So we jammed from fuckin’ in the afternoon until whenever -- fuckin’ two o’clock in the morning. By then, everybody was tanked or high or whatever might be. We were able to come up with some great music doing it that way!"

By this point in The Doom Doc, we’re clear on at least one thing: doom, whatever the flavor, is about keeping it real. You’ll never be short of songs about the despair, depravity, and greed in this dog eat dog, eye for an eye world of ours. Doom metal bands are straight shooters. Whether it concerns religion, politics, or human nature, they call it like they see it.

"Bands like us and in our genre and the whole nine yards, we write and speak about reality," Kirk says. "A lot of people are scared of reality. The truth hurts. A lot of people try to sugarcoat it [and] sweep it under the rug. I think it's important. People always ask me, you know, ‘Can we talk about this, can we talk about that?’ I’m like, you can ask me anything you want. I might not answer, [but] chances are I'm gonna.” What he says next really resonated with me, as I’m sure it will with many of our readers: “I think it’s really for people struggling, you know, with depression -- or its alcohol and drugs. It's very important for them to realize they’re not alone and other people have been there."

Ethan McCarthy of Primitive Man chimes in: "We're writing about real life stuff, you know, so it's like a way to release bad feelings about life's shit, if that makes sense." It makes good sense to me.

"I don't know what we're into, but I fucking like it!" proclaims the great Bill Ward, adding: “You know, for me, playing in a loud, aggressive band, which is what Black Sabbath was, it’s the most comfortable, sonic, and heartfelt place one could be.”

Doomed & Stoned’s Elizabeth Gore and Hugo Guzman were fortunate enough to contribute to this portion of The Doom Doc, visiting the Black Sabbath drummer at his studio in Los Angeles.

This scene we invest in. We choose to nourish this garden.

"Doing a live gig,” Bill Ward says, “I need to thrash and to play and get everything out of me and reach that place of satisfaction inside. I like to come off the stage wasted...It’s very sexual. It’s like, you know, it’s the same thing we have to do when we get together and have sex!" Oh, Bill. You do have a way of leaving us speechless.

“Playing live on stage gives me that same feeling," Bill continues. "That's what music is supposed to do! It's supposed to go wherever it's supposed to. It’s pretty simple. I find no faults, no judgement, you know. Leave that to someone who’s more righteous. As far as I'm concerned, metal's fucking metal!"

Returning now to Joe E Allen from Kurokuma: “I remember Conan being extremely atmospheric, extremely heavy, extremely loud -- and that was only amplified by the way we were feeling. It was almost a transcendental experience. I was touched by the finger of doom that night!"

As a vested fan of the genre, this was pretty much my “Hell, yeah!” moment of the documentary. From start to finish, The Doom Doc is an evident work of passion. For fans of doom, it should be required watching. I’m not sure how newcomers to the genre will take it -- it’s hard to be objective when you listen to it, write about it, play it, and live it. Nonetheless, this 90-minute film is a welcome entry into a fairly small collection of documentaries on the heavy underground. Hopefully viewers will be inspired by it to dig into their own local scenes and do a little riff-mining of their own.

Upcoming Screenings of The Doom Doc

International Film Festival Rotterdam (Holland), January 2018

Desertfest London (UK), May 2018

Bristol (UK), May/June 2018

Brutal Assault (Czech Republic), August 2018

Look for The Doom Doc on DVD by this summer at www.theDoomDoc.com

UPDATE!

The Doom Doc DVD is now available pre-order, with worldwide shipping and streaming options availalbe.   Visit: thedoomdoc.bigcartel.com